Taking Chances
by NightElf13
Summary: What would happen if Jaina had spared Arthas in Icecrown Citadel? Jaina risks everything to discover the truth about the man behind the Lich King. *Story features Arthas, Jaina, and Varian Wrynn.
1. Chapter 1

As the last of the sparks dissipated into the air, Jaina stepped forward and countered her victim. The black mass of cold metal lay still in front of her, the helmet cast off and clattered to the floor. The mage inhaled a deep breath of icy air before peering over to witness the state of the death knight, knowing that this would be the moment which determined the future course of her destiny. The hulking mass stirred, and for a moment, Jaina witnessed two glassy blue eyes staring back at her. Then suddenly, the death knight's eyes fluttered and closed once more, leaving Jaina feeling hollow and weak at what had just transpired.

Stumbling forward, Jaina sunk to her knees beside the dormant figure, reaching a tentative hand to touch his black spaulder. Icy pain shot through her hand as her skin came into contact with the metal and Jaina gasped, moving her hand instead to the face of the man she had just fallen. The death knight was completely still; the icy breath which had once escaped his nostrils had ceased, and the only movement which remained was the cold arctic wind through his dead, wiry hair. Shyly, as a single tear escaped her eye, Jaina stroked the expanse of skin just below his cheekbone. The initial shock of the cold touch shot through her body like a bullet, leaving her with goosebumps from head to toe. But as she began to apply more pressure to the dead skin, a remarkable warmth stirred inside her hand and began to radiate off of her fingers. Jaina stared in disbelief at her glowing hands; this was not something which her studies in Dalaran had prepared her for. Suddenly within her, Jaina felt a sense of ease and comfort which had been foreign to her for many years; as her hands glowed, she continued to stroke the face in front of her. Like a paintbrush, each stroke seemed to bring more and more life back to the pallour in front of her. First, a greyish-pink tint coloured the man's cheeks; little by little, a dull yellow coloured his stringy hair, rendering it more blond-grey than pure white. His lips, once chapped and covered in tiny icicles, became more soft and red. And finally, just as Jaina was about to pull away, the death knight's eyes flickered and once again opened, this time a sea-green colour.

As her charge's confused gaze met her own, Jaina gasped and quickly scrambled to stand up. This was too much, she thought. She had only meant to bring comfort to her former friend as he lay in the citadel dying, a deadly pyroblast from her own shaking hands having provided the final blow. The fact that he was still alive and moving was either evidence of the incredible power of the evil granted by the Lich King, or proof that some remnant of her former love still existed. She had come to the citadel desperate for confirmation of the latter; now that it had seemingly appeared, Jaina was not ready to deal with the consequences of her deepest, darkest wish—that someday, in spite of all the terrible atrocities he had committed, Arthas would return to her. She would have to forgive him for almost destroying the world she loved; more importantly, she would have to forgive herself for loving him.

Jaina stumbled backward, choking on her now freely-flowing tears as the man in front of her continued to gaze at her intently from his place on the cold ground. Suddenly, from behind her and towards the entrace to the citadel, a male voice shouted, and then another one, the clamour of swords not far behind them. Heroes of the Alliance, Jaina thought desperately as she turned towards the cital doors, come to claim the body of the man who has caused so much terror in their realm. Turning back quickly to the man in front of her, Jaina was surprised to see that he showed no alarm at the coming adventurers. His face remained an impassive slate, his eyes fixed steadily on Jaina as her mind raced to form a plan. Would she allow her allies to claim the man in front of her if he was indeed Arthas? Even now, as she watched, the armour of the Lich King appeared to dim on the death knight's body, becoming a dull grey rather than a shiny cobalt black. The suit began to look antiquated and rustic, rather than the fierce impenetrable armour which had once led Arthas from victory to victory. She couldn't, Jaina realized, leave this man to his attackers when there was a chance the Arthas she once knew was still alive.

The voices becoming louder, Jaina cursed herself for her weakness, for her blind devotion to a man who had committed such atrocities and caused so much pain. He tried to murder me, Jaina thought desperately, as the familiar arcane warmth began to course both of her hands. But she couldn't leave him, not when she had already failed him so miserably once before by not intervening when he began his quest for the Lich King's blade. Stepping once more towards the death knight, Jaina kneeld carefully in front of him, holding his gaze as she reached a shaking hand towards his front. "Trust me," she whispered to Arthas, trying to belie her fear as her hand came into contact with the cold metal of his chest.

"Jaina..." he whispered softly as the arcance mist began to teleport them away from his fallen throne, leaving the dimly glowing blade of Frostmourne discarded on the citadel ground.


	2. Chapter 2

The moment she felt her feet hit solid ground once more, the mage's tightly shut eyes flew open and desperately took in her surroundings. But there was no immediate danger here, Jaina quickly realized. In a moment of panic, Jaina had grabbed hold of her victim and teleported them to her study in Dalaran. It was a risk, she knew, to travel with Arthas past the magical barriers of the ancient city of the mages, but Jaina trusted that the power of the Lich King had abated enough that Arthas would not be detected by the protective barriers. Her study, Jaina thought, was an almost ironic contrast to the bleakness of the citadel where she had been only moments before. Soft, purple light radiated from small stained glass lamps mounted on the fabric covered walls. An ornate wooden desk carved in the style of the high elves flanked the wall closest to the outer window. A giant four-poster bed, its sheets drawn back in preparation for slumber, took up more than half of the tiny chamber. High, ornate bookshelves stretched to the top of the room; the decorative gold script which covered the spine of each tome glittered in the soft lamp light and made Jaina instantly feel at home. This was a place where no one would distrub her, Jaina thought reassuredly to herself. She needed time—years really, to figure out what had happened with Arthas—to figure out her own feelings about what had transpired in that cold, desolate citadel.

Arthas, for his part, lay just a few feet away on a broad velvet-covered sofa. In the moments before their teleportation, Jaina had used a transmutation spell to divest the man of his Lich armour. He now lay peacefully in her chamber in simple cloth clothing—a faded green tunic, long brown hide leather pants, and a woolen cloak tied loosely at his throat. His eyes were once again closed, but this time, his body rose and fell rhythmically in slumber. His cheeks retained the rosy glow which Jaina had instilled in him in the citadel; his hair, though not quite blond, was of a far more attractive hue than it had been scarcely an hour before.

Jaina did not know whether to be disgusted or enamoured by the sight in front of her. Here was a man who, only a short while before, had threatened to kill her without mercy and raise her as an undead mercenary of his frozen kingdom. Jaina shuddered as she thought of the immense power she had felt radiating from the Lich King's runed blade. It had taken all of her strength not to turn her back and try to escape—a fruitless pursuit, she knew, since the Lich King thrived on prey which demonstrated fear. But something, somewhere deep within her, had convinced her to stay and face her opponent. It was a brief spark—a flash of recognition as she witnessed the ease with which the death knight wielded his blade, like she had seen so many times in Lordaeron long ago. The way he carried his weight; his confident strong step—these were all reminiscent of the man she had once knew, the man she still loved and desperately wanted to rescue. So she had remained rooted to the ground, vowing to see through the task for which she had set out from Dalaran weeks before.

You cannot win this, mage, the death knight had hissed at her menacingly before advancing on her with his cold blade. But she had bested him with the skill and focus only a true member of the Alliance could possess. The Lich King's overwhelming hubris, Jaina supsected, is what led him to make careless mistakes in his hand to hand combat. When the Lich swung forward, Jaina parried and delivered a harsh fireblast, the force of which almost knocked her right over. This pattern had been repeated again and again: the Lich King striking, sometimes drawing blood, but always a half-step behind the fleet-footed mage. The final blow, Jaina considered proudly, had been a pyroblast—her own signature spell which she had been perfecting in the training grounds outside Dalaran for close to a decade. It had been Arthas himself, many years ago, who had complimented her on her mastery of this spell and its controlled execution, on one of those lazy days when he lay in the grass outside Capital City and teased her for not taking more free time from her studies.

This final blow, Jaina thought curiously, seemed to have done no lasting damage to Arthas' form, despite its abilty to knock the power of the Lich King from his body. The man who lay sleeping in front of her bore no outward signs of battle. Her own hands were covered with ash; her robes were torn and her shiny blond hair was astray. I need to change, Jaina decided, as she ventured to the small wooden chest at the foot of her bed and pulled out one of her more casual silk robes in a deep blue hue.

With a smile pulling at her lips, Jaina thought briefly of her modesty, but with a shrug, she quickly disrobed and slipped on the cool, fresh new clothing. Arthas still had not stirred. Jaina quickly brushed out her hair and pulled it back into a loose bun; on her feet, she slipped on satin shoes which would make minimal noise so as not to disturb the sleeping knight. After she had climbed carefully into bed, Jaina lay back on the soft down pillows and propped herself up on one hand so as to keep a close eye on Arthas throughout the night. Her attempts at remaining vigilant, however, were soon thwarted by her own exhaustion. I need sleep, she thought reluctantly, as her eyes fluttered closed. But the fear of being discovered with a man who was no doubt the most wanted man in Azeroth kept her from relaxing fully into the soft mattress. Finally, as the bright moonlight outside her chamber began to slowly wane, Jaina slipped into a light slumber. She had only hours, she thought as she fell unconscious, to rest before her apprentice came to wake her for her morning studies. She would need a plan—a stroke of genius—to continue to keep Arthas hidden from the outside world. But the time for strategems was stalled for a few hours, as Jaina and her lost love shared the same rose-coloured dreams for the first time in many, many long years.


	3. Chapter 3

A harsh knock awoke Jaina just after dawn. For a moment, she chose to remain in her blissful slumber. Why was she back in her Dalaran study? She languidly tried to remember the events of the past few days, but they were inaccessible to her through the thick fog of her mind. Suddenly, she bolted upright in bed, looking frantically over her surroundings. _Arthas. _She whispered into the silence of her chamber. But the former death knight was nowhere to be found. A blanket which she had placed over his sleeping form the night before had been neatly folded and placed on her nightstand; her books and paperwork were all in order on her desk, and the morning sun was streaming in through her east facing window. It really does look like nothing is out of the ordinary, Jaina mused to herself as she rolled out of bed and tightened her robe around her slender waist. Wherever Arthas was hiding, she thought as she walked towards the heavy wooden door of her study, I hope he has the sense to remain hidden until the coast is clear.

Om the other side of her study door stood Aramyra, the young female apprentice who had been sent to assist her after the passing of Antonidas. Like Jaina, Aramyra was human, but she lacked the natural skill and focus of her master. Her penchant for mixing up magical incantations had garnered her somewhat of a negative reputation among the other senior mages, but Jaina admired the girl's apparent sincerity. Her conjured mana bread, Jaina considered privately, was among the sweet-tasting she had ever sampled.

"Good morning, Lady Jaina," Aramyra greeted the mage excitedly. "I was asked to look into whether you had indeed returned from Icecrown last night. The whole city has been discussing your arrival."

Jaina swallowed nervously and quietly debated her options. If she admitted that her quest in Icecrown was indeed completed, the public would no doubt inquire about the Lich King's whereabouts. She was certain she had teleported Arthas out of the citadel before the Heroes of the Alliance had seen him fallen. He could have just disappeared, she rationalized silently. He could just be off somewhere licking his wounds, regrouping his army, and considering his next move. Truthfully, it was unlikely that many of the civic leaders would believe that Jaina could have fallen the Lich King on her own merit. Jaina briefly imagined the reaction of her friend Varian, leader of Stormwind and head of the house of Wrynn. "You must broaden your horizons," he had once advised Jaina, "if you wish to become a true, powerful leader of the Alliance. Your all-consuming dedication to magecraft could be a great weakness." Though a dear friend, Varian was inclined to prefer brute, physical strength over the power of the arcane. And while Jaina had frequently laughed off his attempts to mold her professional training, she still was hurt by his insinuation that she could not fight among the best of Azeroth's warriors.

Jaina decided that telling the truth- or at least the closest to the truth as possible—was the ideal choice. Spinning a complex web of lies, she considered carefully, would risk her reputation as well as the life of the man she kept hidden within her chamber.

"I did indeed return from Icecrown late last night," she confirmed shakily, "And you have probably gleaned by now that the Lich King is no more."

Aramyra's eyes gleaned excitedly at this piece of news. "I knew it!" She exclaimed proudly. "I felt a change in the arcane force late last night, as though a powerful source of evil had finally been defeated."

Then it is true, Jaina thought to herself. The evil which had once inhabited Arthas' body had been destroyed. Though she had sensed it last night, this confirmation from one of her most trusted apprentices made her more confident in her decision to keep Arthas close by.

Jaina cleared her throat loudly. "I am sad to say," she clarified carefully, "that I was not the one to defeat him." Jaina winced slightly at her next words. Her concealment of the fact that she alone had felled the Lich King, though necessary for Arthas' protection, was still a blow to her own self-pride.

"When I arrived in the citadel last night, the Lich King had already fallen. All that remained of the death knight was his armour and cursed blade, both already rusted and decaying in the arctic air."

Aramyra's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "You mean you really had nothing to do with his demise? I am astonished to hear it—you are the most powerful mage I know."

Jaina offered a small smile and silently thanked her apprentice for believing in her. "I am afraid I did not contribute in the least. As I said, the power of the Lich King had already dissipated from his blade and armour when I arrived in the citadel."

Aramyra bit her bottom lip and took a small step inside Jaina's study. Glancing out the window, Jaina noticed that small crowds of mages had begun to gather in the civic square far below her chamber. They are no doubt celebrating Arthas' fall, she thought to herself amusedly, when in fact he still lives within the very walls of this city.

"It's funny," Aramyra said to Jaina after pacing a few steps, "But when Masters Yera and Pomorra returned from the citadel last night, they said they had examined the Lich's blade when they arrived in his chamber."

Jaina bristled at this news. She had assumed the voices in the citadel last night were Heroes of the Alliance, no doubt human warriors and paladins, come to claim their prize after a heroic struggle through the citadel's antechambers. She had never considered that the arrivals had been high-ranking mages of Dalaran like herself.

"The blood on the sword looked as though it had come from a human mage." Aramyra paused thoughtfully. "I had never believed it myself, but they say that the blood of an extremely powerful fire mage glistens gold in certain lights." The young apprentice looked towards Jaina, her eyes wide with concern. "We were so worried, Jaina, that you had been there and had been slain by the Lich King's blade. Thank the light that he had vanished before you reached the citadel. That could have been your blood on his sword!"

Jaina smiled uneasily at Aramyra, her mind working a mile a minute. Aramyra might be fooled into thinking that another mage had challenged Arthas, but Yera and Pomorra, two of the eldest and most experienced mages in Azeroth, would not dismiss the case so easily. How could she have been so careless last night? Not only was her blood smeared across the Lich King's blade, but she had left the tell-tale signs of her remarkable pyroblast behind on the citadel ground. The soot which she had vigorously washed off her hands the night before no doubt covered the cold tiles of the plateau where she had battled Arthas. Imbued with a special arcane power, the soot would not doubt be recognizable by an experienced mage as a remnant of Jaina's signature spell. Being notoriously difficult to manage, only a handful of mages had mastered the pyroblast and none of them, besides Jaina, was known to be in Icecrown the previous night.

Turning towards the smiling apprentice, Jaina knew she had to act fact in order to preserve Arthas' safety. "I am sure you will be anxious to pass on this news to the other mages of Dalaran." Stretching lazily, she produced a huge yawn and blinked sleepily at the woman in front of her. This has to work, she though determinedly. "I would be glad to provide further details of my adventure in Icecrown to Masters Yera and Pomorra this afternoon, after classes have ended for the day. But for the present, I simply must get some more rest. The journey has taken quite a toll on my physical strength, I'm afraid."

Jaina studied Aramyra carefully, and was relieved to find the apprentice gazing back at her sympathetically. "Of course, my lady," Aramyra said apologetically as she began to walk towards the chamber door "I should have known that you would need more rest after your difficult task. It's just..." she paused, her hand on the doorknob as she turned to look back at Jaina, "I wanted to see if you were alright, that's all."

Aramyra smiled again at Jaina before pulling open the heavy wooden door and stepping through it. Jaina felt a mixture of guilt and relief flood through her. Poor Aramyra, she thought sadly, She looks up to me so much. What kind of an example am I setting for my apprentice by harbouring a fugitive in my very own study? But there was little time to worry about Aramyra now. Sinking back against the heavy door of her chamber, Jaina briefly considered approaching Yera and Pomorra and telling them the truth about what had happened. She could find Arthas and convince the other mages that he had indeed been poisoned by the evil of the Lich King against his will. That the murders of thousands of citizens of Azeroth, both Alliance and Horde, were not truly his fault if he was not conscious of her own actions. But was Jaina herself even convinced this was true? She needed more time, she decided, to question Arthas and discover what had really been happening in Northrend over these long years since he had disappeared.

Jaina gulped audibly. She had made a promise to accept the truth about Arthas, no matter what it was. But she still wasn't convinced that she could live with her own actions. If Arthas himself was behind the atrocities of the Lich King, Jaina had only enabled him further in his quest for power. She had helped him escape the citadel, no doubt sparing him death at the hands of Yera and Pomorra, who had reached the frozen throne only moments after she had teleported them away. She needed to remain faithful, she resolved, in her belief that Arthas had not been responsible for his own actions these past few years—that there had been something inherently human within him that was worth saving.

She would teleport them somewhere distant and remote, where she would have the time and space to question Arthas thoroughly, she decided. Glancing briefly outside her chamber window, Jaina noticed that the sun was already high in the sky and the crowds of mages below her study had swollen considerably. From a far-away bell tower, Jaina heard the familiar clanging of a musical bell, announcing that morning classes had ended and lunchtime was beginning. She paced quickly across the length of the room and began rifling through her clothing chest, removing an extra robe and pair of slippers, her practice wand and a tome of favourite spells to take with her on her journey.

She needed to find Arthas quickly if they were to escape unnoticed.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthas exhaled heavily, his limbs stretching languidly on the soft velvet couch and tangling in the woolen blanket which covered his heavy body. He was uncertain what had woken him this morning. His dreams had been peaceful and lovely, just as he had experienced as a young boy, tucked safely away in the palace of Lordaeron, snuggled into a down cover and resting his hand carefully against his cheek as he slept. He had opened his eyes carefully—first one and then the other—as he drank in the familiar sight before him. Jaina was curled up just a few feet away, her chest rising and falling as she slept soundly. Soft, golden wisps framed her lovely face and Arthas smiled affectionately at her. This must have been the source of those happy dreams. Arthas remained smiling as he rose to a sitting position on the sofa, folding the blanket carefully and placing it on the ornate wooden table to his right.

But in spite of the welcoming scene in front of him, Arthas felt a sense of easiness gnawing at the corners of his mind. Why was he here in Jaina's study? He couldn't recall the events of the previous day. Had they taken a leisurely stroll through Dalaran, as they had frequently done in the years when Jaina was a student here. Arthas thought contentedly of the times when he had watched her practice her spells, her brow furrowed in such a familiar fashion, in the courtyards of the vast city. He was, of course, immensely proud of her arcane abilities—of the way she manoeuvred balls of fire so expertly in the palm of her hands. Her dedication to her studies had been immense, and he had eagerly boasted about her early successes as a student to his close family and friends. But underneath his overwhelming pride, Arthas considered guiltily, he had felt pricks of envy when he witnessed her tremendous power. Jaina had discovered her true calling—she had taken to her studies like a fish to water, never doubting her ability to learn the most difficult of spells, even when she had been a modest apprentice. Jaina had the type of self-assuredness which Arthas had always struggled to preserve.

Had that been what had brought him to Dalaran? He had fancied taking up serious study here, as Jaina had done, under one of the greater arcane masters in order to further expand his horizons as a future king. Although paladins did not traditionally study magecraft, Dalaran was imbued with a rich history that only a few other cities in Azeroth laid claim to. He had come here once, as a youth, under the pretense of study, when in fact he had only been trying to woo Jaina. Perhaps he had now decided to make this a serious pursuit. A thrill of excitement shot through Arthas as he imagined himself, as he had seen Jaina done, curled up among the musty tomes of magical writs in the Violent Citadel, the deep purple cloak of the Kirin Tor hanging regally across his broad shoulders.

Arthas stretched lazily, grinning at the prospect of curling next to Jaina in her large four-poster bed and getting a few extra hours of sleep, but the sharp crack of a hammer and nail from outside the chamber walls briefly caught his interest instead. Arthas rose and padded silently to the small windowed alcove which was tucked behind one of Jaina's sturdy wooden bookshelves. Private and partially obscured from view, it was a place where he and Jaina had spent many hours simply sitting and talking, his strong arm hung lazily over her shoulder, her head resting affectionately against his chest. It was also an ideal place to watch the events transpiring far below Jaina's study without being immediately noticed. Unlike the broad, east-facing window which lay opposite the bed in her chamber, the windows of this alcove were small and tinted the rich purple hue of the Kirin Tor elite. From here, Arthas could see robed figures scurrying about in the city walkways below. It had been a favourite activity of his to voyeuristically people-watch—'mage-watch,' Jaina had giggled teasingly—from this alcove on his frequent visits to the city.

It was apparent at once to Arthas that something important had transpired in the city. The crowds of mages gathered down below were abnormally large, far too dense for the usual hustle-bustle of Dalaran's morning classes, and among the slender silhouettes of human mages, Arthas could pick up the more burly shapes of warriors and paladins—some were even dwarves and draenei—within close range of Jaina's study. There was a man, Arthas recognized immediately, nailing a large sheet of paper onto the call board nestled in among the artisanal workshops of the city's northern quarter. Arthas narrowed his eyes and strained to make out the markings on the paper, but it was impossible at such a great distance. The crowds surrounding the call board, still swelling rapidly, delivered an immense cheer as the man finished his task and stepped back to enjoy his handiwork. Arthas could see men and women patting each other on the backs—some were even hugging and kissing one another—as the cheers transformed into lively and spirited conversation.

Arthas longed to be out amongst the crowds. How long had it been since he had attended an official function as Crown Prince of Lordaeron? He struggled to remember. He had loved conducting official visits to the major cities of Azeroth, Stormwind and Ironforge, and being welcomed by his subjects with enthusiastic cheers. He had thrived off the excitement of these public appearances—they were much more appealing to him than the proper and overly stuffing meetings of foreign dignitaries in the throne room of the Lordaeron palace. These meetings had been dictated by etiquette and decorum. Arthas longed to feel the raw and visceral energy of his subjects up close—to listen to their stories of the latest harvest, to celebrate a peasant holiday, or to discuss the price of commodities in the local market. These were the experiences, he was sure, which would shape his future actions as a wise and experienced king of Azeroth.

As he moved to place his hands against the cold pane of glass in front of him, Arthas suddenly heard a knock at the door of Jaina's chamber. A bolt of adrenaline shot through him. Who could that be at the door, Arthas wondered curiously. He briefly considered strolling out to greet the new visitor, but then remembered the mysterious circumstances surrounding his presence in Jaina's chamber. Had he snuck in the back door of the mage tower last night unseen under the cover of darkness? It was certainly something he had done before, when he had not wanted to announce his presence in the city to anyone but Jaina. In the past, she too had been reprimanded for neglecting her studies to visit with the Prince of Lordaeron. Arthas remembered the stern look which Antonidas had offered Jaina when they were discovered chatting lively in the courtyard on the eve of an important exam. Since that encounter, Jaina had orchestrated their meetings to be more discrete—never secret—but hidden from the public view whenever possible. Under the circumstances he knew it was best, despite his exceptional curiosity, to remain hidden in the alcove until Jaina's visitor had left her study.

This did not, however, stop him from eavesdropping on the conversation between Jaina and her young apprentice, whom Arthas recognized instantly by her high and musical voice. He listened intently to the words spoken between the two mages. He considered curiously the admission that Jaina had returned from Icecrown Citadel late last night. Had he accompanied her there and back? He did not remember ever going to such a place—in fact, he could not understand why anyone would. As far as he knew, it was a barren landscape filled only with a few bears and wild birds—certainly it was nothing of immediate interest to a high-ranking mage or a Crown Prince.

Arthas suddenly realized that the conversation had taken an interesting turn. A great warrior _had _fallen, he though excitedly, recalling the enthusiasm of the crowds outside Jaina's window, but he did not recognize the name of the fallen enemy. _Lich King. _Arthas pondered this title thoughtfully, considering whether he had heard it before. Only when he whispered the name quietly aloud did he feel a peculiar pain, somewhere deep in his chest, as though there was a small wound which had been reopened. His heart began to beat rapidly in his chest. He _had _heard that name before—he was sure of it.

The realization startled him, and he pressed his back further up against the stone wall of the archive, relishing its coolness against his flushed skin. What was his connection to this strange fallen enemy? It was possible that it had been he who defeated him, but something told him this was not the case. Where was his hammer, anyway? He had not seen it in the main chamber of Jaina's study, habitually leaning up against her impressive wooden desk. It was not common for Arthas to venture anywhere without this precious weapon, which had been bestowed upon him when he became a sworn member of the Knights of the Silver Hand. Had he lost it the previous night on his adventure to Icecrown? Arthas could not be sure. A dense fog seemed to encroach upon his mind, allowing him to remember only select events from his life—those concerning Jaina and her studies, his father's formal but affectionate embrace, the white mane of his horse Invincible who had been taken from him so long ago.

Lost in his thoughts in the alcove with his eyes tightly closed, Arthas barely registered the sound of the heavy wooden door of Jaina's chamber shutting tightly. The sound stirred him suddenly. He needed to get answers, he thought desperately. He needed to discover his relationship to this mysterious enemy in Northrend and what role he had played in his demise.

Determinedly, Arthas stepped out of the alcove and was greeted by the frightened, blue eyes of Jaina, standing at the foot of her bed and fastening her travelling cloak tightly at her neck.

"Jaina," Arthas spoke quietly with a mix of both relief and irritation. Why was she not happy to see him? The blond mage stumbled slightly upon hearing her name leave his lips, but then carefully regained her balance.

"Arthas," she whispered fearfully. Her lips, Arthas noticed, had drained of all colour. "Is it really you?"

Arthas wasn't sure how to respond to Jaina's greeting. She was holding his gaze steadily, but something in her posture told Arthas that she was studying him carefully, as though he were something foreign and unfamiliar. How could she give him such a cold reception, when they were such close and dear friends? He considered to himself angrily. But after a few moments of silence, Arthas suddenly sensed that it _had _been a long time since he had last seen Jaina—their meetings in the courtyards of Dalaran and at the palace of Lordaeron suddenly seemed a distant memory, inaccessible through a cold, white fog.

"Jaina, what is going on here?" In spite of his attempt to deliver the question authoritatively, it came out as a mere whisper. At first, Arthas wasn't even sure she heard him. But then she sighed and smiled shakily at him.

"You sound like you. You look like you." She hugged herself tightly for a moment, and then released her arms. "I have to believe it is really you, Arthas."

Arthas considered her words for a moment before a wave of anger crashed through him. "Of course it is me, Jaina! Who else would it be?" He barked at her loudly. What was going on here? Jaina looked slightly different than he remembered her—sadder, and perhaps a little older—but he certainly still recognized her. How could she not do the same?

Jaina stepped back fearfully at his outburst, bringing her arms once again to her chest and hugging herself tightly. I will not break, she vowed silently. No matter who this man is in front of me, no matter what danger he might pose to me, I will not rest until I learn the truth about Arthas.

Jaina cleared her throat and looked the man in front of her steadily in the eye.

"Arthas, what do you remember about the events of last night?"


	5. Chapter 5

As Arthas tried in vain to remember the events of the previous night, he was suddenly reminded of an event which had transpired nearly a decade before. He had been twenty years old, a youth by Azeroth's standards, and was visiting the palace of his good friend, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. In contrast to the impulsive and unpredictable Prince of Lordaeron, Varian was as calm and collected as a human warrior could be. Although he had ascended the throne at an exceptionally young age, Varian ruled the vast kingdom of Stormwind with a level hand. The death of both his parents at a young age had given him the emotional maturity which Arthas frequently lacked in his youth. It was this measure of steadfastness which had initially attracted Lady Tiffin, his future wife and mother of Anduin, future heir to the throne. But before Tiffin, another powerful woman had the caught the eye of Stormwind's young king.

Arthas, Varian and Jaina—all three human nobles had been friends since early adolescence, and whatever special relationship Arthas and Jaina had cultivated early in their teenaged years, Arthas knew that Varian would always hold a special place in her heart, even after Varian had taken his own Queen. While Arthas had been Jaina's partner in crime, Varian had been more of a confidante, and the one with whom Jaina shared her frustrations over her relationship with the young prince of Lordaeron. Varian had been frequently been caught in the middle of one of their heated quarrels—more than once, Arthas had angrily accused Varian of turning Jaina against him. Varian's loyalty to Arthas had never truly wavered in those early years, and he remained a staunch supporter of the relationship between his two dearest friends. Even as his official responsibilities as king made his visits to Lordaeron less and less frequent, Varian remained in close contact with the young prince. Arthas had been among the first to congratulate him on his engagement to Lady Tiffin, and had stood beside his side at their wedding just a few short months after Varian's coronation. But even after Varian had been happily married for over a year, his relationship with Jaina still remained a source of discomfort for Arthas. He never doubted that Varian and Jaina were just friends, but he envied the familiar ease which their relationship seemed to possess.

Arthas and Varian had been talking about Jaina, about their long friendship with the mage, on the afternoon of Arthas' arrival from Lordaeron so many years ago.

"You know that you and Jaina will end up together," Varian teased Arthas gently, leaning back in his wooden chair and balancing a mug of ale on his chest. "It's basically written in the stars."

Arthas rolled his eyes and took a large swig of ale from his own mug. While he pretended to be offended by Varian's suggestion, he couldn't help but revel in the secret thrill which shot through him when he thought of a future with Jaina. Varian was happily married—why couldn't he have that too? Although he had once feared the responsibility which accompanied adulthood, seeing Varian handle his official duties with such apparent ease gave Arthas hope that he could do so as well.

"Please, Varian. You should know better than anyone that the stars have no say over the actions of a future King of Azeroth. Next you will be telling me that the moon determines the length of our swords, and the sun determines the height of our crowns."

Varian laughed heartily and pounded the table with his fist at Arthas' response. But suddenly, his expression turned serious and he looked at Arthas thoughtfully, a smile playing at his lips.

"But don't you see, Arthas? The sun and the moon have already determined the course of your friendship with Jaina. You are the darkness of night, and she is the brilliant light of the day. That's why you two complement each other perfectly." Varian took another swig of ale and winked at Arthas playfully. "In fact, if it weren't for her, I don't know if you would ever be able to shake that brooding prince act of yours!"

Arthas smiled weakly at Varian and took a deep swig of ale. Varian was just joking around with him, he knew, and they had always possessed the kind of relationship where playful teasing was accepted and perpetuated. But something about Varian's analogy about lightness and darkness struck home. Was Arthas really so moody and desolate? Had it been Jaina, and not the other way around, who had constantly mended fences in their relationship? Surely he had comforted Jaina more than enough times when she was stressed about her studies or when she had received a less than perfect mark on an exam. He had tried to be a good friend to her. Above all, he loved her dearly. But Arthas couldn't help but fear he wasn't the type of partner that Jaina deserved. And he couldn't in good faith taint her bright, gentle spirit with his own dark narcissism.

These were his thoughts as he stood in Jaina's study, reaching again into the far corners of this mind, searching for a truth that he knew he was not ready to face. Whatever transpired the previous night, he vowed, he would not bring Jaina into the darkness with him. Not this time.

After a few moments of silence, Jaina was beginning to grow impatient with Arthas. She had always prided herself on her ability to reach him—to be the one who truly understand him when others couldn't—but her resilience was truly running thin.

"You really don't understand what's happened, do you?" Jaina finally cried incredulously. She suddenly let out a strange, high-pitched laugh, far different from the soft, musical laughter which Arthas seemed to remember. "I do not know whether to be afraid or relieved at your naivety," she continued, looking at the ground in front of her. "In any case, your loss of memory should make our escape from Dalaran much less tricky, provided you can trust me."

Arthas took a step towards her. "Trust you, Jaina? I've always trusted you." He took a deep breath and picked nervously at his cloth shirt. "That is way I am asking you now to please explain to me what is going on between us. Why am I here? I see throngs of people celebrating the defeat of a grand enemy, and yet here you are, hiding up here like a frightened child."

Taking a deep breath, Jaina took a few, small steps towards Arthas, her arms outstretched slightly in front of her, as though she were approaching a spooked horse.

"Arthas," she spoke to him carefully, looking him straight in the eye, "Those crowds out there. The death they're celebrating...it's yours."

Arthas reeled and stumbled backwards at Jaina's confession. _His _death? But he could not possibly be dead! He could feel the rough fabric of his cloth shirt brushing against his chest, his toes wiggling in his leather boots, the tight clinch of the belt around his waist. He had felt the hard hammering of his heart in his chest when he heard the Lich King's name—surely this was not death, when he could feel such fear at the mention of this fallen enemy. And here was Jaina, standing glorious and beautiful in front of him. This was not death, when he could feel his chest swell upon looking at her and his cheeks blush when she said his name.

He was suddenly reminded of the paladin Uther and the training he had endured to become a Knight of the Silver Hand. "There is life after death, my son," Uther had told Arthas seriously, "For those who honour the Light and use it righteously." As a young boy, Arthas had been certain that he would be guaranteed a place in the afterlife which Uther had described. Was he not Crown Prince of Lordaeron? This had afforded him great power in life, and Arthas was confident his title would carry over into death. His training as a paladin brought him extra security. No one who could wield the paladin's hammer, who could feel it humming with such warm benediction, need worry about being subsumed in darkness after death.

Facing Jaina in the soft light of her study, Arthas was suddenly not so sure. Maybe he had died, and Jaina's cold welcome had been the initial stage of his punishment in the afterlife. Desperately, he reached out to her, wanting to feel the solid reality of her soft hand and to remind himself that he was indeed Arthas Menethil, a human paladin, with noble blood flowing through his veins.

Jaina flinched as Arthas took her hand gently. Unlike in the citadel, his skin was now flushed and warm and as her skin brushed against his, Jaina felt a familiar swell of emotion in her chest. But she had vowed not let her emotions consume her. Not before she learned the truth. Carefully, she removed her hand from his, offering Arthas a small smile instead.

"You are not dead, Arthas. But a part of you that once was—a dark and cold part- was slain last night in the Icecrown Citadel. I was there. I...saw it happen." For the present, Jaina chose to omit the fact that she had been the one to defeat the Lich King. It would make an already complicated situation even more so.

"I had gone to the citadel to see if I could rescue the man you used to be. The man who was my dear friend. But I wasn't sure what I would find." She paused before her next words, considering them carefully. "You see, Arthas, we haven't seen one another in quite some time."

Jaina's words confirmed what Arthas had already suspected. They had had a falling-out—a quarrel, Arthas suspected grimly—which had damaged their friendship irrevocably. Had Varian been there to comfort her, like he always was in the past? It didn't matter now. The fact that Jaina was standing in front of him—that she had chased after him and _wanted _to see him—made his heart a little lighter.

But there was so much he still didn't understand. "You say a part of me died last night, Jaina." Arthas furrowed his brow confusedly. "How is this possible? All I can remember about the recent past is our time together and the time spent with my family. I remember the green pastures of Tirisfal Glades and the ornate gardens of the Lordaeron palace. How was I in Icecrown if I don't remember being there?"

Surprise registered briefly on Jaina's face. She had predicted he would not remember the events of the previous night, but she was not prepared for his admission that he did not remember _anything _from his life as a death knight. How can I explain what he was, Jaina asked herself silently, without him turning away from me? Steeling herself, Jaina took his hand again in hers.

"Arthas, those memories are not from the recent past—they are from years ago. You've been...on a journey for quite some time. You succumbed to a horrible evil. You took up residence in Icecrown. You..." Jaina trailed off hesitantly. It was not advisable, she decided, to fill Arthas in on the extent of the Lich King's activities while they were still hidden precariously in her study. There would be time, she rationalized, once she had teleported them beyond the walls of Dalaran, to explain everything in greater detail.

Arthas was stricken with a feeling of disgust. Just as Varian had predicted, he had let his darkness consume him. How could he have succumbed to a force so powerful that it took him to Northrend, away from everything and everyone he loved. Jaina had turned from him now, and was hurriedly gathering up the various items she had strewn on the bed earlier—extra clothing, a few books, a hunk of bread. She emptied her supplies into a cloth bag with large celestial images embroidered carefully into the fabric. _Suns and moons, _Arthas thought sickenly, the bile rising in his throat. Jaina had rescued him from a dark force which consumed him, just as she always had. She had no doubt endangered her life, just as he was continuing to do by being here with her inside the walls of Dalaran. And yet she was being patient with him—even gracious towards him—as he stumbled towards the glaring truth which he had always known about himself.

"Jaina," he whispered throatily, "Whatever you are planning on doing, you need to stop now. I don't know what I've become—I no longer know what I am capable of." Arthas felt as though the world had dropped out from under his feet. "How much of this evil force is left in me still? I am an immense danger to you." Desperately, he stumbled towards Jaina as he fought to catch his breath. "Jaina," he wheezed, "Let me protect you. I will turn myself in and justice will be served. I cannot imagine what you had to go through last night to bring me here..."

Arthas trailed off as the horrendous image of Jaina writhing in pain hovered in his mind. It seemed too vivid, too familiar, to be a figment of his imagination. He could sense the weight of a powerful blade in his hand as he advanced on Jaina's figure and the fearful flash of her eyes as she rolled over to face him. "Arthas," she had whispered pleadingly, as his hands lifted the blade over his head, preparing to make the fatal blow.

What had happened in that dread citadel the night before? Arthas shook his head roughly, willing the horrendous images which had encroached upon his mind to disappear. He did not hear the quiet incantation of the woman in front of him as she raised a small glowing hand to her waist and prepared herself for the inevitable blast which her spell would bring.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to the distraught man in front of her, "but you leave me no choice."

Suddenly, a burst of arcane light shot from Jaina's hand and hit Arthas squarely in the chest. He immediately toppled to the ground, and Jaina raced forward to check his pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt the slow, steady beat on the underside of the man's throat. "Good," she whispered to herself. She had only meant to stun him, after all. The journey from Dalaran would be far easier if she did not have to worry about Arthas' emotions getting out of hand.

Quickly, she advanced once more to her bed and gathered the bag full of supplies. Taking one last survey of the room, she released a wistful sigh. She could not predict the next time she would be back in the quiet haven of her chambers, with the peaceful familiarity of her books and the companionship of her friends so close by. She thought of Varian, of all her friends who would no doubt detest her for her actions over the past two days. They are right to hate me, she thought sadly, as she took Arthas' limp hand and prepared her teleportation spell.

But she could not hate herself, Jaina thought strangely, as a bright, arcane light shook her from her thoughts. Squeezing Arthas` hand lightly, she realized she did not regret her decision- not when she sensed so strongly that what she was doing was right, if not for Azeroth, then at least for the dear friend whose hand she clutched so tightly in her own.


	6. Chapter 6

Varian paced the stone hallways of the Stormwind Keep impatiently, his heavy feet crashing to the ground in an almost rhythmic pattern. Only an hour before, he had been roused from his bed by one of his servants in the midst of a restless slumber. He had been dreaming of his father, as he had done so often before. As he turned to walk back to his chamber at the rear of the palace, Varian realized morosely that his thoughts always returned to his father when his kingdom was in danger.

In this most recent of dreams, he and his father were walking together in the lush gardens outside the keep, and Varian was again a youth, free of the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. As his father laughed heartily, Varian skipped along the garden path happily, feeling the warm, August sun on his face and the gentle breeze from the nearby ocean in his hair. Suddenly, however, his father's laughter ceased entirely. Varian whirled around to where the elder Wrynn had once stood and saw him crumple to the ground, his eyes closed tightly and his breathing painfully slow. Taking several slow, terrified steps in his direction, Varian leaned over took a closer look at his father's face, now grey and ashen in colour, as a few tears escaped the corners of his eye.

"Father," he whispered pleadingly, "I've come to save you. Please, wake up." But his pleas had no effect on the fallen king. Finally, his tears flowing freely down his small, flushed face, Varian reached out to touch his father's cheek. As his fingers made contact with the cold flesh, his father's eyes suddenly shot open, startling Varian and causing him to remove his hand quickly. The orbs which stared back at him, Varian realized, were not the warm, brown eyes of his father, but the steely, blue eyes of a stranger. Varian gasped harshly and attempted to stumble backwards from the man in front of him, but the stranger's gaze intensified his hold on him, stopping him in his tracks. "I will not let you do this to me!" Varian cried desperately as he felt himself be pulled into the cold abyss of the man's icy stare, "I will not let you die this way!"

That had been when a harsh knock at his chamber door had roused Varian from this recurrent and most disturbing nightmare. It was just as well that he had been woken so suddenly, Varian thought to himself grimly, pausing before one of the keep`s vast ornate windows. As he gazed upon the quiet stone houses and shops of his beloved kingdom, Varian found that he could not recall the last time he had received a peaceful night`s slumber. There had been too much uneasiness in Stormwind and the surrounding area for Varian to truly be at rest. The ongoing threat of the Defias in the nearby farmlands of Westfall, its fields perpetually parched, had proven to be a real thorn in the king`s side. On the road between Stormwind and Goldshire, a sleepy neighbouring village, Defias cutpurses frequently attacked travellers and merchants.

Varian rubbed his brow wearily, thinking back to the heated discussions he had had with his closest advisors over the best course of action to take against these renegade bands of men and women who threatened the trade routes of his vast kingdom. Hired mercenaries had done little to relieve the violence in the forest and beyond. Varian himself had conducted an official tour of the woods just outside the gates of Stormwind, and had been shocked to see the number of prized livestock, cows and sheep in particular, which were carelessly slain by these Defias henchmen as a way of intimidating the local farmers. The threat of famine already hung precariously over the lands of Eastern Kingdoms, particularly after the persistent droughts which had ravaged the lands of Westfall. The last thing his citizens needed, Varian thought grimly, was to have their livestock decimated, which would no doubt send the already waning agriculture of the Elwynn Forest into an even deeper downward spiral.

Varian sighed wistfully as his eyes followed a silver trail of smoke from one of the nearby cottages up into the sky. If he squinted carefully, Varian could make out a few dim stars peering out from beyond the thick, grey cloud cover. It would be so easy, Varian thought ruefully, if the Defias had been the sum of Stormwind`s troubles. But the ominous storm clouds which the king now studied told of a far greater threat which plagued not only the human kingdom, but every land outside the city`s gates.

_The Lich King. _Varian could barely force himself to utter those words aloud without feeling the familiar pang of guilt in his chest. It was still so hard to believe that the immense force of evil which was on the precipice of destroying all life in Azeroth was really one of his dearest childhood friends. Over the past few years, Varian had trained himself to push all thoughts of the man Arthas used to be from his mind—as a king of the Alliance, he needed to remain objective in his handling of this incredible threat to his kingdom. But sometimes, on cold nights such as this, Varian allowed himself to indulge in the type of tragic memories which tinted his frequent nightmares.

Gazing at the peaceful scene before him, Varian carefully considered the disturbing news which he had learned scarcely an hour before. ``Something has happened in Northrend,`a servant had whispered to Varian as he ushered him along the stone hallway towards the keep's vast throne room. The servant paused, laying his hand against the shiny, wooden surface of the throne room door. ``It seems the Lich King has...disappeared, your Majesty.`` Varian had looked at his advisor in surprise, but there had been no time for further questions as the door to the throne room had swung open and he was ushered inside. Among the various administrators and servants who were gathered inside the vast, regal room, Varian was distressed to see his young son, Anduin, who had clearly been woken by the noise which this disturbance had created. He motioned discretely to a servant to have Anduin removed from the room and taken back to his chambers. Varian sensed that there would be enough to worry about tonight without the distraction of the young prince.

Varian cleared his throat before taking a seat at the long, wooden table which flanked the back wall of the high-celinged room. On occasions such as these, Varian preferred a seat at the table of his advisors to his throne. He knew it was likely to be long night, and his back ached at the thought of the cold, hard chair upon which he traditionally received visitors. No, he would much rather be in the thick of things, flanked by his most senior aides, and surrounded by the carefully illustrated maps and diagrams which littered the surface of the ornate wooden table.

`Your Majesty, forgive me for rousing you from bed at so late an hour, but we have received disturbing news from Northrend.` Captain Thomas, overseer of the Stormwind barracks, spoke first, his voice echoing loudly off the chamber walls. An uneasy silence preceded his next words. ``It seems, my lord, that the Lich King has disappeared. His armour and blade were all that remained when a group of Dalaran mages arrived in Icecrown last night.``

Varian had felt a fresh wave of surprise wash through him. The Lich King had _disappeared_? This simply did not make sense. Only a few days before, the Lich King had been threatening to decimate the Alliance forces which lay in wait in the tiny fortified outposts throughout Dragonblight. The offensive attack which Varian himself had orchestrated so carefully in Northrend over the past six months looked as though it had failed. Several of Varian's most esteemed generals, including Tirion Fording, had been slain during a bloody battle at the foot of the Wrathgate, the hideous stone gateway into the Lich King's domain. Varian had ordered his forces to immediately retreat back to Wintergarde Keep—there had been too many casualties to proceed further on foot into Icecrown and he had needed time to form an alternate plan of attack on the citadel where the Lich King lay waiting.

But then, just a few days ago, Varian had got word from several mages in Dalaran that they had sent one of their own into Icecrown. Varian had cursed angrily upon reading the letter from the leader of the Kirin Tor which detailed their plan of attack on the Icecrown Citadel. The Kirin Tor possessed arcane powers, the Archmage had written, which the warrior-heavy armies of Stormwind sorely lacked. The Kirin Tor was confident that the use of magecraft was the key to finally securing a victory in Northrend, and they had sent one of their most experienced and high-ranking archmages to complete this arduous task.

_Jaina Proudmoore. _Varian's face had trained of all colour when he saw the name written in delicate script on the letter in his hands, and his anger was quickly replaced by a rising sense of panic. Surely the Kirin Tor had not been foolish enough to send Jaina to confront the Lich King! And on her own? It was completely foolish, Varian thought to himself, given the history between Jaina and Prince Arthas Menethil, the man whose body the Lich King occupied. But Varian realized, as a fresh wave of panic washed through him, that the Kirin Tor did not know the extent of the relationship between Jaina and Arthas. They had been at great pains to hide their friendship, and particularly their romantic relationship, when Jaina was a student in Dalaran.

Varian himself had covered for his two friends on the occasions when they had all been in Dalaran together. He had provided excuses to Antonidas when Jaina could not be found for an extra study session, knowing full-well that she and Arthas had gone for a walk together beyond the city walls and were not likely to return before dark. Once, he had even pretended to escort her to a dance in the Capital City of Lordaeron, just so she and Arthas could steal away for a few moments unnoticed, beyond the scrutiny of their high-ranking peers. Varian had graciously consented to these small games out of loyalty to his two dear friends. He had truthfully wanted to see them happy together, and had tried to remain a supportive presence as their relationship continued to blossom over the years.

But then Arthas had done something utterly unforgiveable. Varian felt the familiar pricking of tears behind his eyes as the gravity of Arthas' actions once again registered in his mind. What had happened at Stratholme had been a terrible tragedy, but what Arthas had done after claiming Frostmourne—when he had murdered his own father in the throne room of Lordaeron—this act was scarcely believable by his former friend.

For a time after Arthas had returned to Northrend—when the evil of the Lich King had finally consumed him and he had finally and truly ascended the frozen throne—it had been quiet in Azeroth and a sense of normalcy, however false, had returned to its kingdoms. Varian had spent those uneasy days gazing out the windows of his chamber at the palace gardens, then in full bloom, and thinking of Jaina—his dear, kind friend—and wondering what types of emotions she was feeling upon seeing Arthas' transformation. Although the two did eventually rekindle their friendship, Varian had at first been reluctant to talk to Jaina about what had happened. He sensed she needed time to grieve, as he had, far away from the land of Northrend in her tower on Theramore Isle. But one dismal night, after a few months had passed since Arthas had vanished for good, Jaina had appeared at Varian's chambers, soaked from head to toe and trembling with grief. They had sat together, her hand in his, and whispered quietly to one another for the remainder of the night, finding comfort in their memories of Arthas as he once was. Jaina had been a frequent visitor to Stormwind since that night, and Varian cherished the time they had spent together, despite the pain that their memories of Arthas inevitably brought.

Knowing Jaina had been in Icecrown when the Lich King had disappeared, Varian had acted hastily earlier that evening and sent his most skilled contingent to investigate the citadel. He had dismissed the meeting of his advisors impatiently, ordering his servants to prepare his caravan for the journey to Dalaran the next morning. The news that the Lich King's blade had been covered in a mage's blood still made Varian nearly keel over in despair. The soot which covered the stone floor of the citadel had no doubt been the result of Jaina's pyroblast, Varian thought desperately. He could almost picture her now, raising her hands steadily in front of her as she conjured her signature spell, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. She was an incredibly gifted mage, Varian knew, but even his most skilled warriors had been unable to penetrate the citadel's inner chambers.

Standing at the palace window, Varian's mind raced as he imagined Jaina's ardours trek into Icecrown. Had she been afraid, he wondered, as she approached the room where this terrifying enemy resided. How had she prepared herself to face him, when Varian himself could not even imagine doing so? While Varian was desperately afraid that Jaina had endured some sort of injury at the hands of the death knight, he was almost more petrified that she had discovered what Varian considered the inevitable truth about the Lich King—that Arthas Menethil was irrevocably corrupted and was no more. That he would murder Jaina without a second thought.

Varian shuddered, pulling his thick velvet robe closer more tightly around broad shoulders. Gazing once more at the black night outside the palace, he turned back towards chambers. He needed to sleep now so that he could leave first thing in the morning. He needed to ensure that the great evil which hung dangerously over his kingdom was finally eradicated for good. Above all, he needed to get to Dalaran quickly to make sure Jaina was alright.


	7. Chapter 7

Varian set out from Stormwind Keep the following morning far later than he had intended. Shielding his eyes with his broad hand, he surveyed the position of the distant winter sun which had already begun to climb high into the azure sky. Varian cursed silently and shifted impatiently in his heavy plate boots. It had been exceptionally difficult to coordinate the vast numbers of personnel who would need to accompany him on his long journey to Dalaran, especially on such short notice. In order to save time, Varian had wanted to avoid the public fanfare which traditionally accompanied his journeys abroad. Nevertheless, as he and his men marched out from the royal palace, they had been greeted by a curious crowd of sleepy Stormwind citizens, come to bid their king farewell on his journey. Varian had smiled grimly at his subjects, wanting to pass through the streets of the city as quickly as possible. But as the short staccato of early morning trumpeters continued to echo throughout the cobblestone lanes, more and more residents were roused from their slumber and had pooled in large throngs behind the royal entourage.

A large crowd had even followed the King right to the far dock where he now stood waiting for the final preparations to be completed on the large wooden ship which would carry him abroad. Every now and then, he nodded at the group of men and women in front of him, even sparing a small child who clung to his mother a courteous smile. He was reluctant to address the crowd officially as he had been advised by his most trusted aides not to reveal the true objective of his journey. There was no need to worry his citizens unduly with the disturbing news about the Lich King, Varian vowed silently, until he had amassed more facts about what had happened in Icecrown the night before. Gazing out over the placid sea to his right, Varian felt a small measure of the level-headedness which had so defined his rule in Stormwind return to him. Everything would be alright, he assured himself with a sigh, as soon as he arrived in Dalaran and made sure the situation there was under control.

Nevertheless, Varian could only sigh wearily as he envisioned the difficult journey ahead of him. After arriving in Valliance Keep, he and his entourage faced the daunting task of crossing half of the frozen continent of Northrend on foot. In the best possible case, they would not reach Dalaran for another two to three days. There would be little time to rest as they risked drawing the attention of the undead mobs which patrolled Northrend's forests and valleys day and night.

With an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, Varian cast a glance at several ferry boats to Northrend which were currently out of commission and docked in Stormwind harbour, for lack of a better place. The last time he had boarded one of those finely carved boats, he had been on his way to confront Arthas, he realized grimly. It was a journey that not even Jaina knew about. Devastated by the news that Arthas had slain his father and had taken off once again to Northrend, this time seemingly for good, Varian had hastily boarded a boat and pursued Arthas on his reckless journey to Icecrown. He had been driven by a steadfast belief that he owed it to his friend to try and stop him before it was too late. But upon seeing the ruthless way in which the death knight slaughtered hundreds of innocent victims as he charged through the frozen continent, Varian had realized that Arthas was beyond his help. He had abandoned his mission and hastily returned to Stormwind, refusing to explain to even his most senior advisors the details of his journey. He had been disappointed in himself for believing that Arthas could be saved—for wasting time on a fruitless journey which had taken an immense physical toll and could have deprived his kingdom of their leader. But somewhere deep inside, he realized with a pang of guilt, he had always suspected that Arthas would turn out this way—that he would not have the strength to rule his kingdom as Varian had ruled his own and would instead be consumed by the conceit which he had possessed since they were children. Varian had cursed himself silently, tossing off his armour and letting it clang loudly against his bedroom wall. Never again, he had vowed, would he allow his own misplaced loyalty to jeopardize his responsibilities as king of Stormwind.

The clanging of a bell signalling the safe arrival of a boat into harbour gently stirred Varian from his thoughts and back into the present. Sensing movement in the crowd before him, the king took a few steps forward, preparing to greet the navy captain who would be accompanying him to Northrend. As the crowd parted and a figure appeared at the end of the dock, however, Varian could immediately see that it was not whom he had been anticipating. Long, purple robes and a high ornate headdress adorned the lithe body of the elf in front of him as he paced quickly towards the confused king. Stopping a respectable distance back from the monarch, the elf bowed deeply, the folds of his cloth robe rustling softly in the morning breeze.

"Your Highness, forgive this intrusion." The elf's voice was deep and thickly accented. Amongst the crowds of onlookers, there was a stir of excitement. The arrival of such an exotic visitor, especially in so unexpected a manner, was perfect fodder for the gossip which kept Stormwind's streets so lively.

Varian motioned for the night elf to stand. Although he had been in the close company of elves before, he was always taken aback at their physical perfection. Their height, in particular, was astonishing. At well over six feet tall, even Varian was dwarfed by this foreign visitor, who seemed to him so airy and slender that he could be snapped right through the middle, like a young tree sapling.

"Rise, night elf. You are most welcome here. As you can no doubt see, I am about to depart on an official tour of Northrend with my retinue. I entreat you to state your business please."

The night elf gave a swift nod and bowed once again before the king. "Again your highness, I am sorry for this intrusion." Sensing the king's confusion, the night elf flashed a courteous smile. "I am Rero Starsong, of the Kirin Tor. I have been sent to port you to Dalaran as quickly as possible. Master Yera, your highness, has requested a meeting to discuss urgent business which directly impacts your kingdom."

Varian's eyes widened upon hearing this news. It was strange, indeed, for the Kirin Tor to have requested an audience with him on such short notice. The Kirin Tor were a famously private and conservative group. They would not likely not spare their time and resources, Varian considered, unless a matter was of pressing urgency.

Varian nodded at the Kirin Tor messenger and cleared his throat loudly. "As I was already on my way to Northrend with my men, it would be most convenient to journey first to Dalaran before continuing my tour of the frontier. I would be honored to accept the invitation of your master to meet with him at once."

The night elf's shoulders relaxed as he breathed a sigh of relief. He had been warned, before departing for Stormwind, that Varian was an imposing and often difficult dignitary to deal with. But the man who stood in front of him now did not strike him as unfriendly. Taking a step back, the elf began to roll up the sleeves of his elegant embroidered robe. He would need more room, he thought apprehensively, if he was going to teleport the king back to his master's study without risking an interruption from one of the king's various onlookers.

Sensing that the night elf was about to perform the teleportation spell, Varian motioned to his aides, who immediately began to shout orders for the crowd to move back and give the magic user space. Once the elf was ready, he slowly raised both hands in front of him and began chanting silently. The look of deep concentration etched across the elf's face sent a strange pang throughout Varian's chest. "Jaina," the king whispered to himself quietly. "Jaina, I'm coming. Please be alright."

Varian took once last look at his subjects, standing in awe at the spectacle before them, as he stepped into the glowing portal. He gritted his teeth as he felt his feet leave the ground. The king of Stormwind had faced some of the most terrifying adversaries possible in battle—wild beasts, foreign mercenaries, even legions of the undead. But teleportation, he thought grimly, was one of the most fearful ordeals he had ever encountered. In the past, he had made it clear to his advisors that he much preferred to travel on foot whenever possible, but he supposed in this case, it could not be helped. Only a few moments more, he reassured himself silently, as an intense blue light consumed his vision. The sweaty skin beneath his thick suit of armour began to prickle as he dematerialized slowly and for a single, terrifying instant, Varian could feel nothing at all, not even the weight of his own head on his shoulders. But then a second later, Varian heard the distinctive whoosh as his corporeal form began to reassemble itself at its new location, bit by bit, like fitting together the pieces of an immense jigsaw puzzle. When at last his feet touched solid ground, Varian opened his eyes. Feeling his toes wiggling against the hard metal of his boots, Varian let out a tremendous sigh of relief. How Jaina had grown so accustomed to this mode of travel, he would never know.

Standing in a brightly-lit room which he recognized as Archmage Yera's study, Varian took a few moments to take in his surroundings. Not surprisingly, the room had the embellished wooden furniture and purple tapestries which were the trademark of the Kirin Tor. The carpenters of Dalaran were among the last purveyors of high elven craftsmanship. In addition to basing their own creations around high elven designs, they also lovingly restored artifacts from the ruins of elven settlements which had been destroyed by the Scourge. Varian himself had commissioned a small table and set of chairs from the Dalaran craftsmen after admiring the ornate furniture of Jaina's own private residence.

Taking a seat in one of the plush velvet chairs across from a large bay window, Varian wondered what was keeping the Archmage from their meeting. It was not common for a high-ranking member of the Kirin Tor to delay official business, especially when it concerned a matter which directly impacted Dalaran. Varian ran a hair through his thick hair, looking curiously about the room. The fact that not even a servant of the Kirin Tor had been here to greet him upon his arrival, Varian thought, was exceptionally strange. There had been no sign of the tall night elf who had teleported him here from the Stormwind docks. Varian concentrated for a moment, straining to hear the telltale sounds of a servant bustling about in the hallway outside the chamber, or an apprentice scurrying to class from a nearby study. Hearing nothing, the king began to grow concerned. "Where is everyone?" He wondered aloud, his voice echoing loudly in the strange silence.

After a few moments more, Varian had risen and was preparing to investigate the area outside the chamber where he had been kept waiting when a powerful figure burst through the ornate wooden doors. Archmage Yera was approximately the same height as Varian, but the immense headdress which adorned his head made him seem several inches taller. Being quite old, the human mage's face was creased with deep wrinkles and his hair was completely white. His robes were the deep purple colour of the other Kirin Tor, but the large pendant which hung around his neck denoted his exceptionally high rank and expertise.

Varian smiled tightly at the man in front of him. His patience wearing thin, it would be hard to maintain decorum with this senior officer of Dalaran. The Kirin Tor were notoriously hard to rationalize with for a man like Varian, given their outright devotion to magecraft above all other skills. Summoning the characteristic levelheadedness which had seen him through so many other negotiations, Varian nodded as the mage bowed deeply before him.

"Welcome, your Highness, to Dalaran," the archmage intoned smoothly. "I am so glad to see you made the journey safely."

The mage took at seat at the large wooden table in the middle of the chamber and Varian did the same, folding his hands neatly in front of him. Yera looked at the king seriously before speaking his next words.

"I apologize for the long delay before my arrival, but the city has been in an uproar over news of the Lich King's disappearance." Varian glanced down at his hands and attempted to suppress a laugh. An uproar? He thought amusedly. He had heard nothing but complete silence since his arrival from Stormwind half an hour before.

The archmage cleared his throat before continuing to speak. "I expect that our messenger to Stormwind yesterday provided only the scarcest detail about the strange events which were witnessed in Icecrown. Now that you are here, we can discuss the matter further."

Varian leaned in, concentrating on the mage's next words. "You'll recall, no doubt, that we sent Lady Jaina Proudmoore to investigate the Citadel . When we had not heard from her in some time, I decided to accompany a small contingent of mages to Icecrown myself to investigate what had happened."

Varian swallowed audibly. His hands, he noticed, were clenched together so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to turn white. Seeing his obvious discomfort, Yera quickly began speaking again.

"I should inform you, your Highness, before our discussion goes any further, that Lady Jaina returned safely from Icecrown last night. She has been resting in her study all morning and she has been presently sent for."

An immediate sense of relief washed over Varian as he took in the mage's words. Jaina was just fine, he realized silently. He had been wrong to doubt her ability to travel alone. Feeling the tension begin to leave his body, Varian visibly relaxed his shoulders and shifted in his seat to a more comfortable position, his eyes travelling lazily over the room as the mage continued to speak.

His thoughts consumed by Jaina, he found it difficult to concentrate on the conversation as Yera continued to recall the events from the night before. Yera seemed positive, Varian considered curiously, that the evil which had powered the Lich King's tirade throughout Northrend had finally been defeated. But they still lacked the crucial evidence which would prove this definitively. When the small party of Dalaran mages returned the previous night, they reported that they had been unable to locate the Lich King's blade amongst his rusted scraps of armour. It was this blade, Yera insisted, which was the true source of the Lich King's power. Only when they had definitive proof that Frostmourne had been destroyed would the kingdoms of Azeroth truly be able to rest easy.

Thinking back to his final pursuit of Arthas, Varian remembered seeing the immense metal blade which Yera described impaled into the bodies of so many innocent victims. If the sword was still out there somewhere- worse, if it had fallen into the hands of some other enemy- then it needed to be found and destroyed as soon as possible.

Varian had only just opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the chamber door swung open. Standing in the doorway was Aramyra, breathless and red-faced, clutching a small piece of paper to her chest. Her eyes widened upon seeing Varian, whom she recognized immediately. Dropping a quick curtsey in his direction, the young apprentice turned to address Yera, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Master, I am so sorry to bother you unannounced like this, but I have something you need to see." Glancing sideways at Varian, Aramyra scurried into the room before the archmage could respond, thrusting the piece of paper she had been clutching into his wrinkled hands. The mage glared impatiently at the young apprentice before his eyes were drawn to the letter in front of him. At once, his scowl was replaced by a look of concern.

Yera's eyes rose to meet Varian's own, the lines of his forehead growing deeper and more pronounced.

"This letter," the mage spoke to Aramyra, his eyes still fixed on Varian, "You are positive it was found in Jaina's chamber?"

Aramyra nodded rapidly, her eyes darting back and forth between the two powerful men in front of her. "Yes, Master. I went to fetch her just now as you had requested and the note was lying on her desk." Her bottom lip trembled as she spoke her next words. "I am certain it is indeed her handwriting."

Varian looked at Yera, his heart beating rapidly, as he waited for his next words. Had something happened to Jaina? He wondered apprehensively as he studied the man in front of him. The archmage released a deep sigh, his face deathly pale, as he spoke his next words.

"It seems, your Highness, that the remainder of our meeting will have to be postponed." A dark shadow flickered briefly across Yera's face. "Lady Jaina had disappeared from Dalaran."


	8. Chapter 8

It had only been a short while since they had arrived in the murky thicket of Dustwallow Marsh, and already Jaina was beginning to regret her decision to bring them here. Arthas had been in a foul mood since they had landed. He had risen to his feet almost immediately after the teleportation spell had ended, and had begun crashing through the underbrush without casting so much of a glance at Jaina, swiping forcefully at the rough branches which obstructed his passage. Jaina winced as the sharp tendril of a dead tree dug a trail across her right cheek, drawing a few small drops of blood. She had immediately charged after Arthas once she had taken a brief moment to recover from the journey. Her pleas for him to slow down had had no effect on the prince; it was all she could do to keep up with him now.

Jaina thought back to the brief note she had left on the desk in her study. It had been a last minute idea, as she prepared to teleport she and Arthas out of Dalaran, to leave a letter explaining her absence. She had not specified where she was going—nor, of course, did she specify whose company she was travelling in—but thinking back to the hastily scrawled note, she wondered now if it had been a good idea. Would the high council of the Kirin Tor send an emissary to look for her and bring her back to Dalaran? Certainly, it was not uncommon for mages to conduct solitary journeys under mysterious circumstances—Jaina herself had just arrived back from a companionless mission to the Icecrown citadel which had been commissioned by Archmage Yera. But the events of the previous night, Jaina thought apprehensively, would cast a different light on her disappearance. She had hoped that the Dalaran high council would not worry about her unduly. "Please understand why I had to leave," she whispered quietly as she fought to catch her breath. "Please give me the time I need to make this right."

It had been nearly half an hour of trudging through the marsh before Arthas finally tired. Stopping under the cover of a large willow tree, the prince sank to his knees wearily. He was not even sure where he was—this was not a territory he immediately recognized from his foreign visits abroad. Arthas raised a shaky hand to his head and rubbed his left temple slowly. He had developed a throbbing headache from the stun spell which Jaina had used on him earlier. Flexing the fingers of his right hand, Arthas swore he could feel pain radiating all the way to his fingertips.

_Damnit, Jaina, what were you thinking?_ Arthas paused for a minute more, knowing that his female companion would catch up to him quickly if he didn't keep moving. _Please, Jaina. Please just leave me alone._

Arthas rose to his feet again and stumbled forward a few paces before regaining his balance. He would need to move quickly if he was to find a settlement before dark, he thought grimly. Surely there must be some outpost in this dreary marsh where he could speak to the authorities and turn himself in. Once the public had discovered that he was not truly dead—once they discovered that Arthas Menethil, the man behind the unimaginable atrocities of the Lich King, still lived and breathed—he was sure to be the most wanted man in Azeroth. Arthas would be doing his people a tremendous favour by surrendering himself without further delay. It was the least he could do for his kingdom to turn himself in, he vowed silently.

Waist-deep in the murky water of a small shallows, Arthas did not see the sudden movement in the trees to his right as a wraithlike figure emerged from behind the dark trees. A female spirit, its gaunt face twisted into a malicious smile, drifted slowly towards Arthas, its transparent arms extended towards its prey as a deafening shriek escaped its lips. Arthas swung around in surprise and swiped desperately in front of him, but his heavy hands felt clumsy and uncoordinated. Damnit, Arthas cursed aloud, I need my hammer! He could not even remember the last time he had seen it, let alone the last time he had fought in hand-to hand combat. Perhaps I should just let this spirit consume me, he thought wearily as the terrifying undead began to chant hypnotically. Arthas closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable attack. _Let me die here, and let the world forget that Arthas Menethil ever existed, _he thought listlessly.

"Arthas Menethil." The prince's eyes shot open to see the spirit in front of him had ceased its incantation. "Arthas Menethil." The ghost spoke in a metallic, high-pitched tone that made Arthas' skin crawl. For a moment, both he and the banshee stood motionless as they studied one another, and Arthas sensed something vaguely familiar about the wraithlike figure in front of him. As he took in the sloping of the hollow eyes, the gaunt limbs and long, talon like fingers, this distant familiarity began to materialize into something more concrete— he would discover what it was, Arthas thought hazily, with only a little more concentration.

The resounding boom of a fireblast broke the strange silence a moment later. Jaina bounded onto the scene, admiring her handiwork as the blast hit the spirit squarely in the shoulders and elicited a bloodcurdling scream. The wraithlike figure burst into hundreds of tiny silver slivers which quickly faded into the twilight air. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Jaina tentatively approached Arthas, who had remained motionless throughout the ordeal.

"It's ok now," Jaina spoke softly, her hand coming to rest on Arthas' shoulder, "She's gone."

As Arthas turned to appraise Jaina slowly, her hand slipped from her shoulder and she gasped. Arthas' face was deathly pale and his eyes were wide and haunted. She saw him take a deep breath before whispering to her huskily.

"How did that spirit know my name?"

Jaina glanced uneasily at Arthas before responding. This was not the time nor the place—in the middle of a dreary marsh standing waist-deep in water—to explain Arthas' mysterious connection to the undead. But as Jaina considered it further, she realized there would never be an ideal time to tell Arthas the horrifying truth about his past—about the vast armies of undead soldiers who swore their eternal allegiance to him and who assisted him in the murder of thousands of helpless victims.

Jaina put a firm, reassuring hand on Arthas' arm and steered him out of the cold water. In a few moments, she had them settled on the damp grass under the cover of a large willow tree. Realizing she was shivering, Jaina conjured a quick campfire and pulled a large woollen blanket out of her cloth sack, wrapping it tightly around her waist as she settled next to the flickering flames. Curiously, she studied Arthas by the light of the fire. He did not seem to be bothered by the cold, in spite of the fact that he was wearing only a thin leather cloak and no gloves. She shouldn't be surprised, she told herself firmly, that he would not respond to the damp chill the same way anymore. For how many years, she wondered silently, had he roamed the frozen wastelands of Northrend, undisturbed by the frigid arctic air as he plotted his next vicious attack on the living? Jaina shook her head determinedly. Now was not the time to think about what his life as a death knight had been like. She needed to remain stoic and steadfast if she was to get through to Arthas tonight.

Sipping the tea she had conjured thoughtfully, Jaina finally spoke.

"Do you remember, Arthas, when we were children and Varian and I used to pretend to be your loyal subjects? You said you were practising for the time when you would become king." Jaina offered the man sitting opposite her a weak smile.

"You always said, Arthas, that the thing you wanted most from your subjects was their loyalty." Jaina paused and took another sip of tea. "I think that this is what led you to Northrend in the first place—to do something truly amazing which would guarantee that your people would always respect and adore you. Only when you arrived there, you took this objective too far."

Arthas flinched at Jaina's words. She had hit a nerve with him—it was true that he had always feared he would not live up to the magnificent standard set by his father when he himself ascended the throne of Lordaeron. He had always been looking for ways to gain the trust and admiration of his people, especially once he had become an adult and witnessed the effortless way that Varian Wrynn commanded his own subjects.

Jaina reached a comforting hand out to Arthas, stirring him from his thoughts.

"I think you were so desperate, Arthas, to win the admiration of your subjects that you settled for any subjects you could get, especially when your own army abandoned you." Arthas stared at her in confusion, not understanding the direction their conversation was taking.

The female mage was surprised that Arthas spoke next, his eyes fixed on the flames in front of him. "But weren't my men with me in Northrend?"

"No, Arthas," Jaina shook her head slowly. " Your men had abandoned you by time you had ascended the frozen throne. And when it became clear that neither the forces of the Alliance nor the Horde would support your campaigns as the Lich King, you created your own army instead."

Arthas felt a terrible sensation in the pit of his stomach as a wave of realization washed over him.

"The undead. They were my army, weren't they Jaina?" Arthas stared at her in horror, willing Jaina to contradict his words and to tell him he was not the monster he suspected himself to be. But she only nodded sadly.

"Yes, Arthas. I suspect that is why the spirit in the marsh recognized you. Although Northrend is far from Dustwallow Marsh, the undead are connected through a powerful telepathic energy."

Arthas felt inexplicably sickened at the thought of a vast army of undead—facing a solitary banshee earlier that evening had been terrifying enough. But a desperate sense of relief washed over him as he realized that Jaina had given him a key piece of information about their whereabouts. Dustwallow Marsh, she had said. Arthas vaguely remembered that the marsh was somewhere on the east coast of Kalimdor. Although he could not recall any major settlements nearby, he knew it would not be long before he stumbled upon a small outpost, or even a campsite, if he continued his journey through the wetlands. With every piece of his past which Jaina revealed to him, Arthas thought determinedly, he became even more convinced that he needed to surrender himself as quickly as possible to the authorities and receive due punishment for his actions.

Moving closer to the flames, Arthas could not resist asking more questions of Jaina while he had the chance. He knew he could not remain in her company much longer.

"You say I went to Northrend to win the loyalty of my people. But then why did I let the evil of the Lich King consume me? Why did I fail my people when I needed them the most? Surely my father..." Arthas trailed off, feeling his eyes fill with tears. "Surely my father would not have let me simply abandon my kingdom and take off on the journey of a madman."

Arthas had been afraid to ask about his father, not knowing whether he was prepared to hear Jaina's answer Now he looked at Jaina pleadingly, his hand beginning to tremble as he posed his next question. "What must my father think of me now, when I have been responsible for so many horrible deaths?"

Her heart sunk in her chest as Jaina realized her eyes were also brimming with tears. How could she break the news to Arthas that his father was dead, killed by his own hand in cold blood inside the throne room of Lordaeron? She took a deep breath, planning her next words carefully.

"Arthas, when you were under the control of the Lich King, you did some horrible things. You killed many innocent people. Your father..." Jaina prayed that Arthas would not react violently to her next words. She reached across to him and put a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Your father, Arthas, was one of the casualties of the Lich King's campaigns."

Arthas stared at Jaina in horror, his face devoid of all colour, as he took in her words. He had killed his father—had _murdered _his father without a second thought. Propping his arms unsteadily in his lap, Arthas' head crashed onto his hands. Loud, grief-stricken sobs soon shook his whole body. How could he have done this? He had loved his father dearly—had always admired him and respected him. It was absolutely impossible to imagine the circumstances which had driven him to have committed such an unforgivable act. Arthas gasped loudly, fighting to breathe as he continued to sob uncontrollably. Never in a million years had he thought he was capable of killing his own flesh and blood, even if he was under the control of some powerful evil.

Only when he felt Jaina's small hand on his back did Arthas regain any sense of composure. It was enough to know that he had murdered his own father; he did not need to feel guilty about Jaina's involvement in this whole ordeal. Quickly, Arthas dried his face with the back of his sleeve and stumbled to his feet. For all of its horrifying revelations, Arthas thought incredibly, tonight had brought a much needed level of clarity to his mind. He needed to get away from Jaina now before he committed any other unforgiveable deeds.

Jaina had followed Arthas to her feet, steadying him with her hand as he regained his balance. "I need some time to myself," he choked out, turning to face her. He sighed audibly, knowing he would need to look more put together than this, if he were going to escape Jaina for good."Please Jaina, I need a walk to clear my head."

As Arthas looked at her, his eyes wide and glassy, Jaina appraised him stoically. Truthfully, she did not trust that he could be left alone right now, especially after the news she had just given him. But it was not as if her presence seemed to be doing him any good. Somewhere deep inside, she had hoped that the rekindling of their friendship would be powerful enough to abate the terrible grief which Arthas was now facing. It was a fantasy Jaina had indulged in more than once back in Dalaran—that she would be the one to confront the Lich King and to turn him back into the man who had once been such a dear friend. But looking at him now, she doubted that she was having any positive effect on his recovery. Giving him time to breathe, Jaina decided, might be good for both of them, especially considering he could not go far without her. She was, after all, the one helping him fly under the radar so that he had time to recuperate, both emotionally and physically.

Jaina looked at him steadily, her hand tightening its grip on his shoulder. "Please don't make me regret this, Arthas," she whispered to him softly, and for a moment his eyes grew wide and he shook his head imperceptibly, entreating her with his gaze. _I need to do this to protect you, _he tried to convey silently, searching her face desperately. _Please understand. This is the only way._

Arthas took a step back and smiled at Jaina softly, sensing the trepidation in her voice.

"I will be back before you know it," he whispered quietly, before turning and stumbling into the forest behind him.

Jaina could only watch as he disappeared into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

Arthas surveyed the dark landscape in front of him, wondering grimly how long he had been travelling since leaving Jaina back at their campsite. Just a few hours ago, Arthas had been stricken with a curious bout of energy which had driven him to abandon Jaina without a second thought. But it had also caused him to be careless in his travels. Peering down at his hands as he attempted to catch his breath, Arthas winced as he surveyed the various scratches which now covered his rough skin. His boots—not the customary plate metal which he was accustomed to wearing, but the soft, sleek leather of the Kirin Tor mages—were also completely soaked through. Arthas wiggled his feet against the cold leather and felt slick muck squishing unpleasantly between his toes. Sighing wearily, he thought back to the desperation which had driven him into the woods so suddenly. He had been hell-bent on his own self-destruction—he still was, he thought determinedly. But exhaustion was now eating away at him steadily and forcing him to stop and rest more frequently.

Arthas glanced at the sky above him, trying desperately to get his bearings. He had initially thought it would be easy to locate some small settlement in the marsh. The Alliance forces were constantly expanding their reach into the far-flung frontiers of Azeroth and although Arthas couldn't immediately recall the names of any nearby outposts, he was sure there must have been a reason for Jaina to bring them here. Surely she would not have wanted to isolate herself—alone—with a madman, Arthas thought ruefully. As he considered their final conversation more carefully in the darkness, Arthas had begun to wonder whether Jaina herself had been planning on turning him in and making him pay for his crimes. She had spared his life in Dalaran, no doubt, by teleporting them here before he was found by the Kirin Tor. But Jaina was also extremely just—she had never wanted to see people go hungry or criminals escape the judgement of the law. Her strong moral compass, Arthas realized, was something she shared with Varian, who had worked tirelessly to keep the streets of Storwmind safe from vagrants and insurgents who threatened the public safety.

Arthas shifted uneasily from one foot to another, surveying the ground in front of him for a good place to rest for some much-needed sleep. Truthfully, he had taken off from Jaina without a fully-formed plan on what he would do next. Being convinced of his guilt, he had not had time to consider what would happen if he crashed into a town unannounced and demanded to speak to the authorities. But he realized now that he would risk scaring the local residents if he suddenly showed up in public, given his recent history as a powerful enemy of the Alliance. It seemed that his tenure as the Lich King, Arthas pondered ruefully, had not destroyed his command of social etiquette. Nor had it destroyed his sense of pride, he realized grimly. If he had indeed committed such unspeakable acts as the Lich King, the least he could do for his kingdom—for his people—was to surrender himself nobly and to uphold the standard of honour which had defined the royal family of Lordearon for so many generations.

The royal family of Lordaeron. _His _family, Arthas thought grimly. Truthfully, there was another factor which made him consider delaying the inevitable encounter with the authorities and seeking out some answers on his own. Arthas thought back sadly to his conversation with Jaina earlier that evening. How he had been capable of murdering his own father, Arthas considered morosely, was something which he could still not even begin to understand. But if Jaina was indeed telling the truth and his father had been slain, then his official duty towards his kingdom had increased tenfold. My father's death would make me King, Arthas realized silently, his lips pressing together into a thin, tight line. And if I am King, then I owe it to my people to make sure they are alright.

Arthas sighed heavily, feeling a familiar wave of anguish wash through him. When he surrendered himself to his authorities, he would be surrendering his official title and ending the Menethil line of Lordaeron kings. Even after the horrifying truth about his father had been revealed to him, Arthas felt thoroghly disappointed. After all of those years of training under his father and his most senior advisors—the hundreds of diplomatic missions, his time spent in Dalaran, his studies as a paladin—he would not ascend his father's throne. It had been a vision which had sustained him though his difficult adolescent years—he with the Lordaeron crown on his head, sitting serenely on his throne and greeting his subjects warmly. In early adulthood, when he and Jaina had grown closer, he had begun to imagine her sitting regally at his side, her hand on his knee, as they received their subjects together.

But it had only been a silly fantasy, he thought angrily. Arthas looked wearily at the ground in front of him, finally spotting a relatively dry spot in the underbrush. After stamping the thick vegetation forcefully with his boots, Arthas stretched out wearily on his side, cursing loudly as a sharp twig dug into his ankle. With a loud sigh, he flipped onto his back and took in the smooth white crescent of the moon overhead. If only he had not been so weak, he thought sadly, and he and Jaina might have lived happily ever after. They would have ruled Lordaeron magnificently together—he with his command of the Light and she with her extraordinary abilities as a mage. They would have made a conscious effort to tour the kingdom and meet with their subjects personally whenever possible, Arthas thought determinedly. Smiling faintly, Arthas recalled a diplomatic mission to Hearthglen which he had taken with Jaina over a decade ago, when they had chosen to stay in the local inn instead of the royal suite in the Hearthglen barracks. They had stayed up all night drinking ale and chatting with the peasants in the spacious and welcoming tavern; he and Jaina had even danced with the other couples to the lively music which was supplied by a band of local fiddlers. They had not retired to their chamber until well after dawn, and had needed to sleep the entire next day, throwing Arthas' royal itinerary completely off-kilter. Needless to say, Arthas remembered ruefully, his father had not been pleased when he and Jaina had returned from their trip looking thoroughly exhausted, with guilty smiles plastered on their faces.

Shivering in the damp air, Arthas brought his hands to his chest and buried them into the folds of his cloak, hoping to stave off the cold for a while longer. After a few moments of silence, Arthas felt his eyelids flutter and then slowly close. I just need a few hours of sleep, he thought hazily, to clear my mind before I continue any farther.

* * *

><p>As a young boy, Arthas had been plagued by persistent nightmares about his parents dying, and had frequently spent the night curled up between his mother and father in their giant, four-poster bed, trusting that they would be able to chase away these terrifying dreams. Uther, sensing that Arthas was having trouble sleeping, had once knelt beside the boy and looked at him kindly, a reassuring a hand on his small shoulder. "You won't have any more nightmares, Arthas," Uther had said to him gently, "If you just concentrate on the Light. No nightmares will be able to reach you with the Light on your side." Arthas had nodded meekly, feeling slightly embarrassed that Uther had taken the time to confront him about his problem. But he had immediately put Uther's words into practice, imagining an intense, white ball of light every time he felt himself losing consciousness and hoping desperately that his nightmares would stay at bay.<p>

So it was not immediately surprising, Arthas thought hazily, that he spotted a small, shimmering orb of light as he lay shivering on the cold marsh floor, waiting for pleasant dreams to overtake him. Arthas smiled lazily in his sleep as he felt the light of the apparition wash over him. He would sleep soundly tonight, he thought contentedly, if only the Light would remain in his presence. It was only after a few moments, when Arthas felt a cold chill pass through his body, that he sensed something wrong. The orb of light was hovering silently just a few feet above his body, its light growing darker and more sinister as the seconds passed. A feeling of dread washed over him as Arthas looked up to see two, dark eyes peering at him from deep within the orb. Their gaze fixed steadily on his own, he suddenly sensed that he was being pulled into a dark abyss.

As a wave of panic washed through him, Arthas also realized that he had been completely immobilized—where his limbs should have been, he felt only a warm, tingling sensation. And when tried to open his mouth to call for help, Arthas found he could not move his mouth either. Where his tongue should have been, he felt only a heavy, thick substance— like strands of wool—which prevented him from even groaning in pain as the sick ritual continued. Still hovering a few feet above his helpless body, its dark eyes deep and foreboding, the apparition let out a terrifying hiss.

"Arthas Menethil, you have betrayed your Master." The snakelike voice of the apparition seemed to come from deep within Arthas himself, and reverberated painfully in his mind. "Arthas Menethil. You must return to Northrend to complete your duties to your Master. The Master is not pleased that you have abandoned his task so suddenly." The voice let out another low hiss, and the sound shot short stabs of pain throughout Arthas, making it difficult to concentrate on the next words which were spoken.

"Arthas Menethil. If you do not return to Northrend immediately, we will come and find you. We _always _find anyone who has betrayed the Master. And you will be served due punishment for your betrayal." The voice broke into a deafening chorus of low hissing, and Arthas felt himself shudder as the horrific sound overtook him. As his eyes flickered close, Arthas saw the dark eyes of the apparition begin to change to a glowing blue colour as though they had been seized by a sudden frost. The electric pain he felt coursing throughout his body was unbearable. Please, just let it end, Arthas thought desperately. I will do whatever you ask, just _please_, let it end.

The shock of a warm hand on his shoulder shook Arthas from his horrible nightmare and the fear which had gripped him. A pair of gentle blue eyes peered apprehensively at his face and Arthas felt a cold cloth being pressed to his fevered forehead. A vision of soft, pink lips swam dizzily in front of his face; presently, Arthas could hear his name being spoken by a voice so calm and familiar, so gentle, that he immediately felt more at ease.

"Arthas." Jaina looked at her charge sternly, shaking him roughly by the shoulder while her other hand pressed a cool compress to his forehead. "Arthas. It's Jaina. Please wake up."

As she tended to the man before her, Jaina thought back to the events of the night before, her own limbs weary with exhaustion. Though she had remained far behind him under the cover of darkness, Jaina had followed Arthas over the entirety of his journey. She had watched him fall asleep and had crawled into the underbrush to rest only a few feet away from him. Only when dawn broke and the first rays of sunlight peeked through the ominous cloud cover of the Kalimdor sky did Jaina slip away for an hour unnoticed, seeking out the small wooden cabin which she knew was nearby. When she returned to Arthas, she had suspected he was suffering from a bad dream, and had roused him suddenly from his slumber. But upon seeing his dishevelled appearance this morning, Jaina wondered whether she had been right to wake him.

Arthas groaned deeply and placed a hand to his head, his fingers brushing against Jaina's as he tried to recall what had happened. He had been planning on getting only a few hours rest, he thought hazily, but now it was most certainly morning. Suddenly, remembering the terrifying apparition which had confronted him before he lost consciousness, Arthas sat upright quickly, knocking Jaina back in the process, to take in his surroundings more clearly. But the forest was serenely calm and empty, its appearance nothing like the night before. Arthas could only hear the happy trills of nearby songbirds and the deep, throaty sounds of the marshland bullfrogs. There was no trace of the sinister hissing which had spoke to him of a mysterious Master and entreated him to return to Northrend at once.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthas sank back wearily onto the ground as he felt a warm hand once again brush his face. "Jaina." Arthas swallowed heavily, the events of the previous night already fading away as his eyes settled on her own, peering intently at him from behind long eyelashes. Her face radiant in the morning sunlight, he couldn't imagine why he had wanted to escape her last night so desperately. Jaina had been here, as she always was, to pull him from the darkness. And although his throat constricted at the thought of Jaina being in danger—of what she was sacrificing by helping him confront his past—the intense affection which flooded his chest upon seeing her was enough to make him to change his mind. He was a fool to think he could make this journey without her.

Covering her hand with his own, Arthas smiled up at Jaina warmly. "Couldn't stay away from me, could you?" he teased gently. Grinning at him appreciatively, Jaina brushed a strand of hair from his eyes before rising to her feet. "Come on," she said, extending her hand towards him, "There's someone whom I'd like you to meet."


	10. Chapter 10

Theramore Isle was a quiet and peaceful outpost, its streets devoid of the regular bustling crowds seen in the larger cities of Stormwind or even Ironforge. It was also the place where the new recruits of the royal guard were regularly sent for training, being so far off the beaten track that its inhabitants rarely saw any sort of rebellion. The guards here, Jaina had once joked, were prone to sleeping late into the morning and taking extra long lunch breaks. Foreign visitors were rarely received in Theramore. Patrons of the local tavern could not even recall which burly dwarf was now leading the city of Ironforge, or which slender night elf kept order in Darnassus.

High officials from Stormwind were in fact so rare in Theramore that the officer's quarters in the local barracks had been converted into a games room. So the sight of Varian Wrynn, arriving as the sun rose that morning, was such a shock to locals that they scarcely believed their own eyes. At a distance, Varian had looked like any other servant of the royal guard, adorned in heavy plate metal and bearing the deep blue tabard of Stormwind. But as Varian marched down Theramore's long dock with his aides flanking him on either side, his boots crashing heavily on the rotting wood, the astonished citizens crept in quietly for a closer look. As his thick mane of dark hair and custom-made spaulders came into view, his onlookers quickly fell to one knee and bowed graciously to their King. An excited cheer rose spontaneously from the crowd as they greeted the rest of the royal retinue. It had been so long since they had greeted their King on Theramore's sleepy shores.

Varian thundered through the outpost's quiet streets quickly, nodding every now and then to the local residents who had gathered to see him pass. How long it had been since he had visited here last, he could not recall. Varian gave an extra nod to the local blacksmith, his thick apron covered in ash and his heavy hammer raised in greeting. It was something he constantly regretted—not having the time to visit the more far-flung areas of his kingdom on a regular basis. Just as the citizens of Stormwind had done, these villagers had worked the land tirelessly to make a living for themselves and their families. And he ought to make public appearances more often, he considered seriously, as a way of keeping morale high.

Varian stopped his trek abruptly, gazing apprehensively at the immense mage tower which loomed just ahead. In spite of his best intentions towards his citizens, this journey was not about them—it was about finding Jaina Proudmoore, who had disappeared from Dalaran so mysteriously the day before. Varian nodded to a senior member of his retinue, who scurried back to the contain the swelling crowds of locals. On their journey here from Stormwind, Varian had been so sure that Jaina would have fled to Theramore, the place where she had spent so many years as a young mage. But seeing the crowds of astonished onlookers, he was suddenly not so sure. Varian rubbed his face roughly as he mounted the steep stone steps which led to the tower entrance, feeling a brief swoop of anticipation as he reached the heavy wooden door. He would find Jaina in her chambers in Theramore, he rationalized silently, just as he had so many times before. Raising his thick fist, Varian cleared his thought loudly before pounding on the door—once, twice, three times before it swung open and an ancient, emaciated mage greeted Varian warmly.

"King Varian. What a pleasant surprise." Ionis opened the door widely for the king, allowed him to step inside the stone foyer. The mage threaded his fingers together before gazing at Varian kindly. "I am, as always, completely at your service. How may I assist you, your Highness?"

Varian gazed at Ionis wearily, thankful to be inside the cool antechamber and out of the blistering morning sun. He could hear the swift footsteps of apprentices on the landings above, no doubt scuttling towards the sturdy wooden banisters so that they could get a better glimpse of this unexpected visitor. Varian smiled lightly as he remembered Jaina dressed in the simple cloth robes of a Dalaran apprentice, her hair pinned up messily as she rushed quickly to class, one of her conjured elementals often hot at her feet. He could not remember the last time he had seen Jaina so focused on her studies—not since Arthas' disappearance, he realized sadly, had Jaina regaled him with stories of her latest spell or conjuration, her blue eyes wide and sparkling with excitement.

Varian studied the mage in front of him curiously, wondering if he, too, had seen the change in Jaina these past few months. But Ionis only smiled politely at Varian as he waited to carry out his official orders. Varian returned his gaze with a wan smile before opening his mouth to speak.

"I do apologize for showing up here so suddenly, but I must speak with Jaina Proudmoore at once." Varian glanced above him, searching the small group of mages crowded on the landing for a familiar face.

Surprise immediately flickered across Ionis's pale face. "I am sorry, your Highness, but Lady Jaina is not here. The mage leaned in and peered curiously at Varian. "She has not been seen in Theramore, in fact, for many months. I'm sorry, your Highness. I thought you knew."

Varian swallowed audibly, a sense of terrible foreboding gripping him once more. The logical part of him knew that Jaina would not be here, not after the events in Icecrown these past few days. He had been midly aware that Jaina was spending less time in Theramore these past few months, preferring to lodge in Dalaran instead. Varian had suspected that she had stayed in Northrend in order to be closer to Arthas, although he had never asked her about it outright. Truthfully, he had not been ready to acknowledge the extent of Jaina's continued devotion to Arthas, not when Varian himself was still reeling from the terrible truth of his transformation. In his mind, he had tried desperately to separate the woman he knew—sweet, kind Jaina—from the evils which were being committed in Northrend by the Lich King. Just as he had done during their youth, Varian felt it was his duty to protect Jaina—to keep her from being sullied by Arthas' perpetual darkness.

Now that he was standing amongst the Theramore mages, however, Varian could no longer deny Jaina's involvement in the whole ordeal. This had been her home for many years—she had settled Theramore, in fact, just after the catastrophe in Stratholme, when she was desperate to get away from the Eastern Kingdoms and the memories contained there. Varian had marvelled at her ability to create a magnificent outpost out of virtually nothing, and had visited her here frequently to admire her careful handling of the fledgling population, comprised then of mainly fishermen and merchants.

As he took in the familiar sights and sounds of the tower, Varian was seized with a sudden longing to see Jaina's chamber. Seeing her room littered with her possessions—even if she herself was absent—would at least allow him to imagine that she _could _return here sometime in the future.

Ionis was only too glad to grant Varian's request, and as the King followed the mage up the steps to the top of the tower, he thought back to the note which Jaina had left in her Dalaran study before her mysterious appearance. The words had been burned into his mind since he first laid eyes on them:

_I am leaving Dalaran for good. Please don't come looking for me. _

Archmage Yera had been confident that Jaina had left the city willingly, especially after it was confirmed that the note was in her handwriting. Nevertheless, he had conducted a thorough questioning of all students who resided in Jaina's building over the course of several hours, leaving Varian to tour the city grounds alone. Although he had been unsuccessful in his search for clues, Yera had reassured Varian when they at last reconvened that there was nothing to worry about. The protective fields around Dalaran were so strong, he had said, that only the most powerful of enemies could penetrate them. For that matter, the streets of the city were so crowded with citizens celebrating the Lich King's downfall that no kidnapper could have taken Jaina from her chamber without someone noticing.

Varian had smiled graciously at Yera, but had still felt incredibly uneasy. It was not that he feared Jaina had been kidnapped—he knew that the city did indeed possess powerful defensive forces which would keep out unwanted intruders. What worried him more was that Jaina had disappeared so soon after returning from Icecrown Citadel. Was her experience there so traumatic, Varian wondered apprehensively, that she had needed to flee Northrend altogether? He had feared that her encounter with the Lich King might be too painful to bear, especially given her connection to Arthas. Late the previous evening, Varian had returned to Stormwind by teleport and set off for Theramore immediately, with only a small retinue accompanying him. He had vowed to find Jaina before she disappeared from Azeroth entirely.

Standing in the hallway before her chambers, Varian waited patiently for Ionis to retrieve a heavy brass key and slip it noisily in the lock. The door swung open at once, and Varian stepped gingerly inside. Sensing his need for privacy, Ionis dropped him a quick nod before turning and swiftly descending the tower stairs out of view. Varian inhaled a deep breath of stale, musty air as he peered curiously at his surroundings. It was just as he remembered it, he thought fondly.

The room was decorated with ornate, walnut furniture, and in contrast to her study in Dalaran, was a much darker and more mysterious hideaway. The fourposter bed, adorned in heavy blue velvet, looked like it had not been slept in for months, if not years. Varian gently ran his hand over the wooden headboard, and collected a thick layer of dust on his fingertips. It was such a shame, he thought sadly, that her chamber had been left in such disarray when she left for Northrend. But looking around in astonishment, as he was doing now, it was easy to see why Jaina had left her Theramore residence for the more netural ground of Dalaran. This room, Varian realized sadly, was cluttered with hundreds of mementoes from her time spent with Arthas. Varian smiled in spite of him self as he recognized the faded yellow ribbon which Jaina had won in a horse-jumping competition many years ago in Lordaeron. He had bet Arthas five gold that Jaina could not clear the final jump; when she had returned from the competition with the champion's ribbon pinned to her robe, he had felt sheepish and offered to buy all three of them a round of ale in the local tavern. Arthas had gazed in admiration at Jaina for the entire evening. For all of his present faults, Varian thought grimly, Arthas had always believed in Jaina's abilities fiercely, to the point of even entering her into duels and competitions without her consent.

Varian felt another pang of sadness as his fingers brushed over a stack of faded paper piled haphazardly on the walnut bureau, the artistic scrawl of Arthas' handwriting immediately evident. If Jaina was keeping these memories of Arthas preserved so carefully under lock and key, he could only imagine the pain that her confrontation with the Lich King must have caused her. Varian thought back to Yera's parting words the night before, just as he was about to depart for Stormwind.

"We sense there is still some of the Lich's evil contained in his blade," he had said seriously to Varian, his forehead creasing with concern. "What Jaina witnessed iin the citadel could be important to understanding the distribution of his power. Please, your Highness, let us know the minute you hear from her." Varian had given Yera his word before departing into the night, determined to find his friend and question her immediately . But seeing the extent of Jaina's continued devotion to Arthas—the way she so lovingly preserved her memories of him—Varian was was suddenly unsure whether she would be willing to divulge what happened in the citadel to anyone, least of all him.

The sound of the chamber door opening behind him made Varian whirl around quickly, his sword clanging noisily against the bureau as he moved. Ionis stood in the doorway, his face flushed with excitement. "Your highness, forgive the intrusion, but I have some news which will undoubtedly be of interest." The mage brushed his slender figures over his robes, searching Varian's face inquisitively as he spoke. "Lady Jaina Proudmoore has been spotted in the woods just outside out Theramore."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **To anyone who is still reading this story, thank you :) This is just a heads-up that I am going on vacation so this will be the last update for at least a week and a half.

I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

* * *

><p>"Hurry up, you slowpoke." Jaina threw a quick grin to Arthas, who was trailing several feet behind her and breathing raggedly as they trudged through the thick grass. "I promise we're nearly there."<p>

"That's what you said a few minutes ago." Arthas groaned, but he smiled at Jaina warmly as he jogged a few paces to catch up to her. They were following a jagged path up a steep hill and he could barely make out the stone markers which led the way. Jaina, on the other hand, bounded up the path as though she had traversed it daily for many years. Arthas wondered midly if she had done so—she had certainly spent enough time in Theramore and the surrounding area to make a vast mental catalogue of all its topographic features.

The air was crisp and cool as the two companions reached a small clearing, their breath coming out in short bursts as they stopped for a minute to rest. Jaina retrieved a leather flask from her bag and drank from it greedily, savouring the clear water as it trickled down her throat. In the chaos of the past few nights, she realized silently, she had barely taken any time to eat or drink. Arthas looked even worse for wear than her. His blond hair was matted with dirt against his broad forehead and his face was pale and sallow. Jaina sighed audibly, rising to her feet again before motioning to Arthas that they would be continuing their journey. After they spoke with Aegwynn, she promised herself determinedly, she would make sure that they got a proper meal and some rest.

Aegwynn's cottage was on the other side of the vast clearing, and was hardly distinguishable from the thick, dark trees which surrounded it. Arthas looked at Jaina curiously as they approached the front door. She had not told him much about the strange, old woman who lived in the cabin—just that she would be able to help him. After taking a moment to smooth down his hair and brush some of the dirt from his trousers, Arthas smiled nevously at the woman who stood patiently next to him. Jaina had assured him that Aegwynn was completely trustworthy—that she would not give away any of their secrets—but Arthas still felt incredibly apprehensive.

Jaina took a deep breath before raising her hand to knock, but before her hand came in contact with the door, it swung open silently and a throaty whisper beckoned them inside.

"Welcome, Jaina Proudmoore. I have been waiting for you."

Arthas turned his head quickly to study Jaina's reaction to the strange invitation, but she seemed cool and collected as she stepped through the doorway and into a small, dark sitting room. Ducking slightly so as not to hit his head on the doorframe, Arthas slowly followed.

The room was lit only by the blazing fireplace on the far side of the room, which produced a thick cloud of smoke so dense that Arthas could barely make out the rest of the room's features. Squinting in the low light, he spotted a decrepid wooden table and two small stools; there was also a small bed with a faded plaid quilt and a rickety-looking bookshelf lined with dust-covered tomes. But there was no sign of the old woman who had spoken just a moment before. Arthas swallowed audibly, feeling more than a little uneasy.

Being much braver than Arthas, Jaina strode towards the searing fireplace where a dark shadow had materialized, its feautres becoming slowly more distinguishable as Jaina got closer. The mage smiled as Aegwynn's crinkled face finally came into view. The old woman was seated in a rocking chair, her wiry grey hair framing her face pleasantly. She looks just as I remembered her, Jaina thought warmly. Many years ago, Aegwynn had actually lodged with Jaina in Theramore, serving as her mentor and guide, during the difficult period when Theramore was still a fledgling settlement. Jaina had valued their friendship dearly, even if she could not understand the old woman's strange powers. More than once in her lifetime, Aegwynn had correctly predicted a drought or an attack on a nearby tower by a band of renegade orcs. Jaina could only hope that Aegwynn could be of service to them now.

Grasping the mage's hand warmly, Aegwynn turned to greet Arthas, who stood awkwardly to the side of the room.

"Welcome, Arthas Menethil. It is good to see you alive and well."

Arthas nodded politely at the old woman, stumbling forward clumsily before taking a seat on the ground next to Jaina. The floor, he noticed, was covered in a musty carpet embroidered with tiny gold vines. Arthas swept the carpet nervously with his right hand, his other hand coming to rest awkwardly in his lap. As a member of the royal family, he was certainly not accustomed to sitting on the floor, much less on a dirty old rug. But if Jaina could do it, he supposed, so could he. He looked up to find that Aegwynn was still staring at him, her eyes twinkling in the light of the fire.

"I sense you have come here, Arthas, to ask whether the Lich's power still resides in you." The old woman closed her eyes and reached her hand, palm-up, towards Arthas expectantly. Jaina nudged her companion and flashed him a small smile of encouragement, before Arthas gingerly placed his hand in Aegwynn's own. Suddenly, he felt a sure of electricity, not unlike the one he had felt just hours before, during his terrying encounter with the spectre in the marsh. But this time, Arthas felt comforted by the strange electric energy which seemed to course through his body. It felt like a warm blanket was suddenly wrapped around him, he thought curiously. After a few moments of easy silence, Aegwyn released Arthas' hand and slumped back heavily in her chair.

"You are a troubled soul, Arthas Menethil, and you are currently facing many internal demons. But I sense no more Lich in you. The power of that incredible evil is gone from your body."

Jaina breathed a very audible sigh of relief before blushing deeply at her reaction. She had strongly believed that Arthas was free from the Lich King's grasp and had desperately hoped her instinct was correct. She had taken an incredible risk—first by rescuing Arthas from Icecrown citadel, then by leaving Dalaran under such mysterious circumstances. The fact that she was travelling with Arthas now and going to such great lengths to keep his secret hidden was evidence enough of her absolute faith in him. But it was still incredibly reassuring to hear that Aegwynn—a woman whose advice she had trusted so many times in the past—had actually agreed with her assessment.

Arthas was relieved too, and he gave Jaina's hand a small squeeze. He had not told her about his encounter with the strange spectre in the woods the night before, but truthfully he had been replaying the encounter in his mind all morning, trying to understand its significance. The appariton had warned Arthas that he must return to Northrend at once, but after hearing Aegwynn's words, he was now confident that his connection to the Lich King had been permanently severed. He had made the right choice, he thought with a smile, not to tell Jaina and worry her unnecessarily. Jaina sighed deeply and gave his hand a small squeeze in return, her thumb tracing lightly over the back of his palm.

Aegwynn watched the two companions seated in front of her, visibly pleased that the conversation had brought them so much relief. But suddenly she felt a jolt of fear, breaking her out of her calmness. The old woman leaned in, studying Arthas seriously. "Was the blade of the Lich destroyed along with the Lich King?"

Arthas stared blankly at Aegwynn. The blade of the Lich? He swallowed nervously, remembering back to the vision he had had of Jaina, crouched fearfully on the floor of the citadel, as he advanced on her with a heavy blade in his hand.

Jaina's voice was clear and confident as she replied. "I am confident the blade was destroyed." She cast an apprehensive glance at Arthas, who was now gazing at her in astonishment.

"I did not want to tell you before, but I was the one who defeated the Lich King in the citadel that night. I suppose I was also the one who knocked his power from you and freed you from his grasp, right before I teleported us back to Dalaran." Jaina placed a hand entreatingly on Arthas arm, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I swear, Arthas, you did not cause me any harm. Besides, you did not know it was me—I am sure of it."

Arthas' stomach dropped and he stared blankly ahead, trying to come to terms with Jaina's confession. But if he was honest with himself, he had always supsected it was Jaina who had confronted the Lich King in the citadel that night. The vision of him advancing on her, the cold steel in his hand, was far too clear in his mind to be a figment of his imagination. But now, hearing Aegwynn's words and seeing his companion's warm smile, Arthas sensed there was nothing more to fear. Jaina was here with him now and she understood, just as he was coming to realize, that the actions of the Lich King were beyond his control.

Aegwynn studied Jaina seriously before nodding deeply, apparently pleased with her response.

"If you are certain the blade was taken care of, then the Lich's power must also have been destroyed. It is the blade, I am told, which is the true source of the Lich King's power."

As Jaina nodded enthusiastically at Aegwynn, figments of doubt sparked in her mind. She had been certain that night that she had destroyed the blade—she had disarmed Arthas, that much was certain. But thinking back, she wasn't sure where the blade had been when she had teleported them back to Dalaran. Had it begun to rust and turn to ash, as the Lich King's armour had done? Jaina wasn't positively certain. But she couldn't worry about that now. Not when Aegwynn had delivered the news she had been waiting for for so long.

Brushing her robes carefully of dust as she stood, Jaina motioned for Arthas to stand too, signalling that they were leaving. Aegwynn shifted forward on her seat, grasping both of Jaina's hands in her own.

"Be careful out there, my child. And take care of each other." Aegwynn looked sternly at Arthas before releasing Jaina's hands.

"I sense you both still have a long journey ahead of you."

Arthas had smiled graciously at Aegwynn and thanked her for her help, before they both left the warm sanctuary of the cottage and stepped out again into the cool, afternoon air. But left again to their own devices, Jaina suddenly felt uncertain about what they would do next. Would they return to Theramore, and risk being seen by a member of the royal guard? Or should they venture further into the frontier, and remain safely under the radar for a while longer? Jaina's forehead creased with concern as she turned to Arthas to speak.

"What should we do now?" Jaina asked, her voice full of trepidation. But seeing Arthas' face break into a wide grin, she could not help but smile back at him.

"We could start by getting something to eat. I'm starving!"

Jaina nodded eagerly as she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to conjure some bread and water. Having something to eat will allow me to think more clearly, she thought determinedly. But as she began to murmur a conjuration spell, Arthas stayed her hand gently.

"Real food, Jaina. Some meat and berries, perhaps? If I remember correctly, these woods are crawling with bears."

Arthas winked at Jaina and she laughed genuinely, thinking back to the time many years ago when Arthas had ventured into a nearby bear cave, intent on finding supper, only to find that it had been taken over by a swarm of spiders. If there was anything that could scare the Prince of Lordaeron, Jaina thought , it was a giant spider. Arthas had sprinted from the cave as fast as lightning, and she had mercilessly teased him the whole way home. Much to their chagrin, they had had to settle for fish head soup that night for dinner—it was the only dish the inn chef could cook with much proficiency at the time.

Arthas retrieved a small knife from Jaina's bag before removing his cloak and laying it flat on the ground for her to sit on.

"If you take care of the refreshments and dessert, I will bring us back a meal fit for a king!"

_King. _The word still felt awkward coming from his mouth, but as he said it, a little thrill shot through his body. If Aegwynn was right—if he had finally escaped the Lich King's grasp—then maybe things could go back to the way they were supposed to be. He could apologize to his kingdom—make them understand that he had been powerless to resist the Lich King's bidding. Surely he could not be held responsible for actions which he had committed against his own will. Arthas swallowed audibly, thinking of the terrible fate of his father, who had been slain by his own hand. But surely there was some way to prove that even his father's death—_especially _his father's death—was not really his fault. They would find a way, he and Jaina, to absolve him from this whole terrible mess, and then they could pick up the pieces where they had left them and get back to living normal lives.

Arthas winked again at Jaina, feeling a familiar swell in his chest, before turning and heading back into the forest. "I'll check that ravine we passed for any signs of bears," he called back over his shoulder. "I promise I won't be long."

Jaina smiled at Arthas' words, hugging her chest tightly as she sat down on the cool ground. He wouldn't disappear again, she thought determinedly, not when Aegwynn had assured him he was no longer a danger to her. Jaina lay back leisurely on Arthas' cloak, closing her eyes and allowing the warm sunlight to wash across her face as she relaxed fully for the first time in days. _Everything will be alright now, _she whispered to herself softly. _Everything will be alright. _

After a few moments of resting peacefully, Jaina heard rough footsteps aproaching from the other side of the clearing. Thinking it was Arthas returning from his hunting trip, Jaina sat up expectantly, a broad smile on her face. But it was not Arthas Menethil who had come to greet her. Her heart pounding heavily in her chest, Jaina took in a shaky breath before addressing the man in front of her.

"Varian- what are you doing here?"

Varian Wrynn had expected to find Jaina broken—distraught—certainly not laying out on the grass casually sunbathing while he turned his kingdom upside down to search for her. He was especially surprised at the sudden anger which bubbled up through his chest upon seeing her. Wasn't she even glad to see him, when he had come all this way to find her? Jaina's face had gone deathly pale and she was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling erratically as she studied Varian apprehensively.

"What am _I _doing here?" Varian could hardly contain the anger in his voice. "What are _you _doing out here, Jaina? And all alone?"

The sudden sound of rustling in the trees behind her made Jaina nearly shake with fear.

"She's not alone." Arthas' voice rang crisply through the clearing as he stepped out from the treecover, a dead rabbit clutched in his hands. Jaina's stomach clenched as Varian stared mutely at Arthas, his hand resting protectively on his sword.

"Jaina." Varian croaked hoarsely, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head. "What the hell is going on here?"


	12. Chapter 12

Long before their sons were born, Llane Wrynn and Terenas Menethil had made a pact confirming that their eventual offspring would work together in the ruling of the human kingdoms of Azeroth. They would not pit their children together, but would encourage them to work in harmony with one another—Arthas would rule the upper half of the Eastern Kingdoms—all territory north of the Thandol Span. Varian would rule the southern half of the continent, in conjunction with the Bronzebeard dynasty of the dwarven kingdom. The two young princes would learn to respect each other's territorial boundaries, it was decided upon, but would also learn to share the natural resources and manpower which were so integral to the success of their kingdoms. Their subjects, in turn, would come to see them as two sides of the same coin—Varian, the dark-haired, fiercely loyal ruler of the south, and Arthas, the fair, brave ruler of the north.

So when Arthas Menethil was born to Queen Lianne just a few short years after Varian Wrynn himself was born, the subjects of both Lordaeron and Stormwind were ecstatic. The arrival of the two young princes, they claimed, especially in so short a span, signalled the rejuvenation of the great human monarchy. Terenas Menethil had arranged to have his newborn son meet the young prince of Stormwind as soon as possible. At three years old, Varian was much more interested in play-fighting with wooden swords than helping his father receive the royal family of Lordaeron. But he had dutifully patted Arthas' soft head—his hair already thick and blond—and had promised his father he would look out for the young prince.

Years later, both Varian and Arthas would look back on these first, carefully arranged play dates with a sense of fondness. For although they had been thrust together somewhat unnaturally by their parents, the two young princes formed a very genuine friendship rather quickly. Especially after the untimely passing of Varian's parents, the two boys had come to rely upon each other fiercely.

And so it was with a sense of both sadness and nostalgia that Arthas Menethil stood in the meadow before Aegwynn's cottage, facing his dear childhood friend once more. Like Jaina, Arthas noted, Varian seemed to have aged considerably since he had seen him last. The skin around his dark eyes was more leathery and wrinkled than Arthas remembered it. His hair too, was longer, and Varian's girth was considerably larger, no doubt the result of his stringent training as a warrior. But the way he was staring at Jaina with such a mixture of fondness and pain in his eyes—this was something Arthas certainly remembered.

Arthas clenched his fists tightly, a familiar wave of envy washing over him. "She's not alone." He growled again softly. Hearing him speak, Varian swung back to face Arthas, his eyes wide and surprised, as though he had forgotten that he was even there. Varian opened his mouth a few times as if to speak, but no sound came out. Finally, Jaina, who had been watching the strange exchange fearfully, stepped in between the two men and raised a placating hand toward Varian, her eyes soft and pleading.

"I didn't mean to alarm you by leaving Dalaran so quickly, but I couldn't risk being discovered by Yera or any of the other archmages." Jaina's voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Varian." She took a step forward before continuing her speech. "Something incredible happened in Northrend when I encountered the Lich King in the Icecrown Citadel. I cast a spell and he…." She motioned gently to Arthas standing rigidly beside her. "He just appeared, Varian. I have found no explanation for what happened. But we have been to see Aegwynn, and she has confirmed that our dear friend has returned to us at last."

Varian stared at Jaina in stunned silence, while Arthas shifted awkwardly next to her. He took in her dishevelled appearance—her eyes, full of emotion and shining with tears as she looked at him entreatingly. It was all too much for Varian to take in at once.

"Jaina." Varian took a step forward, his face stoic, his voice practically shaking with rage. "This is not Arthas Menethil. It _can't _be Arthas Menethil. I followed the Lich King to Northrend, Jaina. I saw what he became.." Varian grimaced as Jaina took a step closer to the blonde man and put a small hand on his shoulder. _What are you doing?_ Varian nearly screamed. _This man is a murderer, Jaina._

Arthas watched the exchange uncomfortably before finally finding his voice. "Varian Wrynn." The words seemed foreign and awkward, but he continued anyway. "I understand if you are not happy to see me. I know that I have committed horrible atrocities against our people for which I should never be forgiven." Arthas caught Jaina's eye briefly before continuing, his voice a little louder than before. "But I assure you that Jaina had nothing to do with any of this. She found me in the citadel. She…took care of me.." Arthas trailed off, his face becoming flushed and red, as a large lump formed in his throat. Once again, Arthas considered the risks that Jaina had taken to keep him concealed from the rest of the world—to give him time to come to terms with what had happened over the course of these past few years. He couldn't let Varian march in and destroy everything she had worked so hard for, Arthas thought determinedly.

"I will accept the consequences of my actions as the Lich King, but Jaina should not be punished for what I have done."

Varian whirled around quickly to face Arthas, his eyes suddenly blazing with fury. "_Everything _ you have done! You speak as though the actions of the Lich King are even the smallest bit redeemable. Do you even have any clue what has been happening in Azeroth these past few years?"

Varian took a step towards Arthas before lowering his voice and hissing menacingly.

"You raised an army of undead and destroyed your own kingdom. You very nearly destroyed mine too. And then you marched off to Northrend and began to wreak havoc on any settlement there. You destroyed brave warriors, Horde and Alliance alike." Varian paused briefly, a wave of anguish washing over his face as he thought of Bolvar Fordragon, who had fallen victim to the Lich King just weeks ago at the Wrathgate. He would not let anymore subjects of his kingdom fall victim to the same fate. Grasping Arthas roughly by the collar, Varian quickly drew his blade at held it to his neck.

"You are right, Arthas. You will pay for all you have done. And I will be the one to exact vengeance upon you."

With the cold steel of Varian's blade pressed to his warm skin, Arthas felt a debilitating sense of panic shoot through him. Varian was right—how could he make amends for everything he had done as the Lich King? Jaina understood—she had _always _understood him—but the laws of the human kingdom were not nearly so forgiving. How could he explain to Varian what had happened, when not even Arthas himself understood his terrifying transformation? Arthas felt his blood run cold as he stared into the eyes of his dear childhood friend—now dark and hollow. Varian was an indiscriminately kind man and was fiercely loyal to those close to him, especially his son and Jaina. But he was also a staunch upholder of morality and justice, and he had a duty to uphold towards his people. _Varian is only trying to do for his kingdom what I could not do_, Arthas thought grimly. _I should not expect anything less. _

Jaina's strangled cry suddenly interrupted the violent exchange. "Varian, stop! He may have done many terrible things, but that man is still Arthas Menethil."

Varian's eyes narrowed dangerously as he surveyed Arthas' pale face, his breath coming in sharp, hot bursts as he spoke. As Varian turned to face Jaina, she gasped when she saw the desperate rage in his eyes, so different from the soft kindness she had come to expect from her friend.

"Stay out of this, Jaina! You have already endangered my life and yours by protecting this _criminal _from the arm of the law.," But Varian's eyes widened briefly as he considered Jaina's last words. Although his dreams were never as fanciful as hers, Varian had often imagined what it would be like to have Arthas back again—to spend another lazy summer together sailing off the coast of Lordaeron, trading stories about their hunting exploits and drinking at the local pub until late into the evening.

But those were the dreams of fools, Varian thought silently. Looking at his victim's face—the wide, fearful eyes—the stiff, bony limbs— Varian knew that this was no longer the same man whom he had once considered such a dear friend. The _real _Arthas Menethil, Varian thought grimly, would at least have the decency to defend himself. How many countless times had he and Arthas sparred as children, in practice for the day when they would face real enemies of the Alliance in combat. This desperate man was a mere shadow of the brave and loyal comrade Arthas Menethil had once been.

"You don't deserve to live, coward." Varian hissed loudly. "And as King of Stormwind, I am at liberty to decide whether a criminal receives a fair trial. You forfeited that right the moment you murdered your own father."

Arthas struggled to breathe as he looked pleadingly into Varian's eyes, raising his hands stiffly to pry the weapon from his neck. But when Varian glanced down at his fingers, he gasped audibly and dropped his weapon at once. Arthas' hands were suddenly glowing with a soft white light.

Arthas took a step back and closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he felt the strange sensation flood throughout his entire body. As an intense feeling of peacefulness washed over him, Arthas realized with a gasp that the Light had returned to him. Feeling as though a warm blanket had been wrapped tightly about his shoulders, Arthas began to remember fragments of strange incantations—spells that were used to cast away demons and undead—spells that had defended not only him against hordes of enemies but Jaina as well. Arthas opened his eyes to find the mage smiling radiantly at him, her hands clasped in front of her chest.

"Oh Arthas," she breathed softly. "You're glowing again."

Even Varian seemed dumbstruck for a moment as he took in the scene before him. Surely the Light would not be so strong if this was indeed the Lich King, he thought in astonishment. He had seen Arthas Menethil as he had been in Northrend—shrouded in darkness and harbouring the black blade of Frostmourne, not the customary hammer of the paladin. Was it possible that Jaina was right—that the real Arthas had somehow emerged from the shadow of the Lich King, and was now standing before him?

Jaina looked towards Varian and noticed he was nearly shaking with astonishment. But before he could speak any further, there was a sudden noise from the woods behind them which caused Jaina to call out in fright.

Varian immediately recognized the sharp staccato of an Alliance trumpeteer, signalling the arrival of royal enforcements from Theramore. He had asked his entourage to wait behind in the barracks while he looked for Jaina alone, but now that they had clearly come looking for him, Varian wondered how long it had been since he had set out that day. Surely a few hours, he thought grimly. More than enough time for this rescue mission to turn into something entirely different altogether.

Shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, Varian glanced at Jaina, her hand wrapped stiffy around Arthas' upper arm. Even if Varian himself could not completely trust that the Lich King's power had fully abated, there was no doubt that Jaina would not leave Arthas' side. Varian swallowed heavily, considering the gravity of the situation before him. He had a responsibility to uphold the law in his kingdom, and that included prosecuting criminals and ensuring they were brought to justice. While he would do his best to personally protect Jaina from harm, her appearance here in the presence of a felon would surely be seen as suspicious by the authorities. Not for the first time, Varian felt himself pulled between his loyalty to his kingdom and his loyalty to his friends.

Jaina had already begun pulling Arthas into the cover of the trees before she cast a desperate glance back at Varian, her lips moving softly in a silent plea. As he gazed into her deep blue eyes, Varian let a sigh escape his lips. He had sworn to Yera that he would ensure Jaina's safety and discover for certain what she had endured in the Icecrown citadel. And there was no way he could leave Jaina alone with Arthas, Varian realized—not when there were still so many unanswered questions about his past.

Varian glared at Arthas sternly before joining Jaina on her opposite side, his hand placed authoritatively on the hilt of his sword.

"I will accompany you for now, Jaina," he muttered gruffly, "but I don't like this one bit."

Jaina could only smile sadly in return.


	13. Chapter 13

A shorter update, I know, but enjoy!

* * *

><p>The rest of the afternoon passed in relative silence as the three companions continued west towards the Kalimdor frontier. After a few failed attempts, Jaina had given up on trying to make light conversation. Varian had grunted a few times in response to her comments on the weather or the direction in which they were heading but Arthas had remained completely silent, his glassy eyes fixed straight ahead as he stumbled after Jaina, keeping as far a distance from Varian as was possible.<p>

Jaina sighed deeply as they reached a small cliff at the western edge of Dustwallow Marsh, her limbs aching with exhaustion. She had been under no pretense that Varian would immediately accept Arthas back into their inner circle. Certainly, she had been more than reluctant herself to accept that Arthas had returned. It had taken Aegwynn's reassurance to fully convince her that the Lich King's power was really and truly gone, and even still, Jaina was disturbed by the dark cloud which seemed to perpetually hang over Arthas' shoulders. The reappearance of the Light had quelled her uneasiness temporarily, but as the sun set over the dark horizon, Jaina felt some of her earlier doubts about the fate of Frostmourne resurface.

Or perhaps she was just tired, Jaina thought grimly. After all, they had been travelling for many hours since Aegwynn's cottage, stopping only for intermittent breaks while Jaina foraged the area for seeds and berries. Setting her pack down under the cover of a large willow tree, Jaina stretched stiffly and turned to her weary companions.

"We will stop here to rest for the night. You both look exhausted."

Neither men spoke a word in return, but Jaina could see the gratitude in their eyes as they stopped in their tracks. Arthas immediately slumped to the ground and kicked off his muddy boots; after a few moments, it looked to Jaina as though he had already fallen asleep.

While Jaina conjured a warm campfire and some fresh bread, Varian scouted the campsite noisily, his dark eyes roving over Arthas' form suspiciously. Jaina could only sigh as she watched her friend's ministrations.

"He won't hurt us, I'm sure of it," she said calmly as she stretched out on the ground a few feet from the open flame. "I've already spent one night alone with him in the forest, and it was perfectly fine."

Varian scoffed at Jaina's admission before running a hand roughly through his hair.

"You are far too trusting, Jaina. You always have been," he muttered gruffly. But he offered Jaina a small smile as he watched her eyes softly drift close.

"You need to get some rest. I'll stand guard for a few hours and then we can trade off."

Jaina nodded sleepily and within a few minutes she was sound asleep, her chest rising and falling gently. Varian took a seat on the ground next to the mage and warmed his hands by the fire. From his position, he had a clear view of Arthas, sleeping soundly just across the campsite. _Just try me, Arthas, _he dared his companion silently. _If you threaten either of us tonight, I will slit your throat without a second thought._

The next few hours were consumed by the soft sound of breathing as the campfire crackled gently. Sensing no immediate danger in the woods beyond them, Varian had let his eyes drift close for a few moments. Or was it a few hours_, _he thought groggily as he bolted upright, his attention immediately on Arthas, who had begun mumbling in his sleep. The fire had died down considerably and now consisted only of glowing embers which cast eerie shadows across Arthas' pallid face. Had Arthas looked that thin and weak during their travels yesterday_? _Varian couldn't be sure as he rose to his feet and tiptoed quietly to where his companion was sleeping.

Arthas' white lips were trembling gently, and Varian gazed in astonishment as he began thrashing wildly back and forth on the ground, as though seized by an invisible force.

"I won't go back," Arthas whispered throatily, his eyes squeezed shut as though trying to block out a terrifying visage. Varian whipped around and surveyed the campsite rapidly, but he could see no other life besides Jaina's sleeping form.

"Just leave me alone!" Arthas was shouting now, and Varian realized he would need to restrain him before he disturbed Jaina with his cries. Taking a deep breath, Varian reached down and shook Arthas' shoulder roughly.

"Stop it, you fool, or you'll wake up all of Azeroth," he whispered gruffly, feeling utterly annoyed at the situation he was in. But suddenly, he felt an icy grip on his hand and looked down to see Arthas staring at him strangely, his eyes a cold blue and his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. "We always come back for those who run away from the Master." Arthas' voice was steely and unfamiliar, and fell from his lips as though from an unseen phantom. "You will never get away from us that easily."

Varian yanked his hand out of Arthas' and stumbled back a few steps before falling to the ground. I _knew _this was a bad idea, he thought grimly, his sword already drawn as he approached Arthas again, preparing to strike if necessary. But Arthas was lying motionless on the ground where Varian had left him, staring blankly into the clear night sky. His eyes, Varian had noticed, had returned to their customary sea-green colour. His lips were no longer turned into a terrifying sneer, but were pressed into a thin hard line. As Varian approached cautiously, Arthas looked up at him with such an expression of confusion and fear that Varian's heart was seized for a moment by a desperate sense of pity.

"Varian," Arthas choked out, his voice dry and raspy. "Varian, please. What is happening to me?"

Arthas stretched a shaky hand towards Varian and the King stared blankly at him for a good long moment, silently debating his next move. Could he trust that this was not part of Arthas' act? Certainly, Varian had seen it before—a weakened warrior would surrender themselves and beg for mercy, only to put Varian into a compromising situation so they could gain the upper hand. Varian was too noble and too brave a warrior to be bested by this weak shell of the former Prince of Lordaeron. But something in Arthas' eyes, shining as they were in the soft light of the embers, reminded Varian briefly of the innocent child with whom he had spent so much time playing as a youth.

Varian licked his lips, deciding to take Jaina's advice and trust his instinct for once. But just this once, he thought grimly, before grasping Arthas' hand firmly in his own and helping him into a seating position.

Arthas smiled weakly in gratitude before leaning back against a rotten tree stump, his breathing still harsh and irregular. Varian was not sure what to do next. Should he ask Arthas about what had just happened? He was certainly not in the talking mood, not after the ordeal he had just endured. Varian sighed and settled on the ground a few feet from Arthas, his dark eyes still trained on his pale form. Whatever had just transpired, he was glad that Jaina had not been awake to see it, he thought grimly.

"It's not the first time that has happened," Arthas' shaky voice cut across the still night air like a knife. "Last night, when I was alone in the woods, I was visited by an apparition."

Arthas swallowed audibly before turning his haunted eyes towards Varian, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"I didn't want to worry Jaina unnecessarily. But there was a demon who told me I must return to Northrend at once. That I must not betray my master..." Arthas' words trailed off and he turned his head to stare at the ground in front of him, anticipating Varian's response.

Varian stared blankly at his companion before clearing his throat to speak.

"I thought that Aegwynn confirmed the Lich has no more power over you. If that is the case, then why are you being haunted by this demon?" Varian was growing more suspicious by the moment as he sensed his initial fears about Arthas were being confirmed. "There is no true escape from the power of the Lich," Yera had warned him in Dalaran, "until the blade of Frostmourne has been destroyed." Varian had nodded gravely and promised Yera that he would discover the blade's whereabouts. But he had not wanted to discuss such serious matters with Jaina in front of Arthas—in front of a man he felt he barely knew. Varian shifted nervously on the ground, clearing his throat before he spoke.

"The blade—Frostmourne—Yera said that the power of the Lich would be fully defeated if the blade was destroyed." Varian leaned in more closely, desperate to hear Arthas' next words."Are you certain that it was destroyed the night that Jaina found you?"

Arthas swallowed heavily before turning his gaze towards Jaina's sleeping form. With a gasp of surprise, Varian understood at once. _Only Jaina knew the true fate of the blade, _he realized silently. Jaina alone had faced the Lich King—had defeated him, and teleported Arthas back to Dalaran.

Arthas met Varian's dark eyes and gave a simple nod.

"She insists that the blade was destroyed in the citadel," he whispered quietly, "But I can't be so sure. Not when I keep having these horrible nightmares about returning to Northrend. It's like there's a force- something magnetic- that's always pulling me north. Like I have no other choice." Arthas sighed again, running a hand through his pale hair. "I thought it was over. Aegwynn _told _me it was over. But I fear that they will not stop looking for me—hunting me—until I go back to that horrible place and become the Lich King once again."

Varian's brow furrowed in confusion. He was having trouble following their conversation.

"But who would be looking for you, if the Lich King has indeed been defeated?"

Arthas turned once more to his companion and Varian gasped at the unmitigated fear in his eyes. The embers popped loudly as Arthas opened his mouth to speak, his lips thin and pale.

"Ner'zhul," he whispered throatily. "Ner'zhul will come looking for me."


	14. Chapter 14

When Jaina woke the next morning, she was surprised to find Arthas and Varian still sound asleep, curled up a few feet away from each other on opposite sides of the campsite. She sighed deeply and stretched before getting to her feet and preparing a morning fire. As the familiar spell fell quietly from her lips, she found herself using a little more force than necessary to direct the large balls of flame into the firepit. She sighed again loudly, feeling restless and jumpy, as though something was picking away slowly at her brain.

Varian had not woken her for the second watch, as he had promised, and this irritated her slightly. She gazed over at Varian as she dusted off her hands, preparing to admire her handiwork. _Why can't you just trust me, _she wondered silently as she took a seat next to the blazing fire. _I am fully capable to taking care of myself. _

In their childhood reinactments of great battles in the gardens of Lordaeron, it was Arthas who always dictated who was to play what character. But it had been Varian who was so needlessly overprotective of Jaina—always treating her like she was a fragile object, ready to break. She could not help but be offended, even if Varian had been proven right from time to time. Once, when they were teens, she had nearly drowned after she and Arthas had jumped from a large cliff into the harbour of Southshore. Arthas had pulled her from the water and she had fully recovered after a hot bowl of turtle soup, but Varian had eyed her cautiously for the remainder of the night, as if at any moment she would fall to pieces.

Things had changed, somewhat, when they had become adults and Jaina had moved on to her own kingdom. Her involvement in Varian's recovery following his horrible transformation at the hands of Lady Prestor had been a turning point in their relationship—since that time, Jaina had felt as if they were really and truly equals.

But she couldn't help wondering why Varian would not trust her now, even though the circumstances were so dire, as she had done so many times in the past. _I must prove to him that the power of the Lich King is well and truly gone, _she thought determinedly.

Jaina scarfed down a third of a conjured mana loaf and took a long swig of water, savouring the cool trickle of liquid down her throat. There was something else—something that she had overheard the night before—which was still eating away at her. Jaina squinted into the fire, trying to remember what was bothering her. She had only heard snippets of the muffled conversation between Arthas and Varian as she slipped in and out of unconsciousness, but she had been aware enough to know that they had been talking about her.

_The blade. Frostmourne. _Jaina gulped deeply, drawing her cloak closer around her. Varian and Arthas had been discussing the blade's whereabouts. It was still something she was unsure of herself, she thought dismally. Although she had sworn to Aegwynn that she had destroyed the blade that night in the citadel, she had been haunted by the sneaking suspicion that the blade's light was not yet completely out- that there was still some power contained within that had not been completely destroyed.

She shivered in the breeze, stretching her legs out languidly so that her feet could be closer to the fire. Had it been this cold when she had awoken this morning? Something in the air felt off—as though the seasons had forgotten to change. _Somehow—someway—I need to discover what has happened to Frostmourne before it is too late, _she vowed silently.

From across the campsite, Arthas stirred and blinked sleepily at Jaina, before his face broke into a shy smile.

"Good morning, Jaina," he whispered softly. "Did you sleep well?"

Jaina nodded and immediately shifted over, making room for Arthas in her place next to the fire. After stretching lazily, Arthas joined her, his hand placed gently on her knee.

"I spoke with Varian last night," he admitted after a moment's pause. Jaina's eyes widened as she tried to feign surprise. She had overheard conversation, after all. But she wanted to allow Arthas to describe it himself.

"We talked about what has happened since you found me in the citadel, and I realized I haven't been completely honest with you, Jaina." Arthas looked at her sheepishly, and Jaina's attention was immediately piqued. Had something happened to Arthas which he had kept hidden from her? A strange swoop in her stomach made Jaina shiver once more.

"The night before last, when we were alone in the forest, I was visited by an apparition. He told me..." Arthas' voice trailed off as he braced himself for Jaina's reaction.

"He told me that I must return to Northrend at once. He told me that I was being hunted—like a criminal. And that they wouldn't stop until I was found."

Jaina's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped loudly. She opened her mouth to speak but Arthas raised a hand to stall her, before continuing his story.

"I can't be sure, but I think it is Ner'zhul who is looking for me." Arthas ran a hand through his hair before shaking his head incredulously. "I remember so little about my time as the Lich King, and yet I remember that name. And Varian was able to confirm that Ner'zhul has been linked to the Lich King by the Dalaran mages."

Jaina nodded slowly at Arthas' words. She had been present at the meeting only weeks before when Yera had told the story of an orc named Ner'zhul, once a warchief of Draenor, whose tortured spirit had been captured inside the frozen throne. Jaina shivered, thinking of how the man in front of her had recently suffered the same fate, before encouraging Arthas to continue his story.

"When the apparition spoke to me, I recognized his eyes and his voice. I know it sounds crazy, Jaina, but I am certain it was a servant of Ner'zhul speaking to me—telling me to return to his master at once."

Jaina swallowed once before looking Arthas straight in the eye. She needed to be strong for him—to tell him that everything would be OK, she realized. But how could she reassure Arthas when she felt so unsure herself? She offered him a small smile, hoping that her next words sounded convincing.

"Aegwynn confirmed that the power of the Lich King is completely gone from your body. And even if Ner'zhul _is _looking for you, we have the power of the Alliance on our side." Or at least I _hope _we do, Jaina thought grimly, as she glanced at Varian sleeping only a few feet away.

"Everything will be alright, Arthas. We just need to convince Varian that you are no longer a danger to Stormwind or to Azeroth. Then he can take care of the rest. He will help you make amends with the other kingdoms and you'll see—everything will return to normal."

Except their lives could never truly be the same, Jaina thought sadly, as long as Lordaeron lay in ruins and the undead continued to ravage the northern half of the Eastern Kingdoms. Jaina had not told Arthas about the present state of his kingdom, not wanting to burden him with too many disturbing details about his past at once. But the time would come, she thought solemnly, when he would have to learn the truth.

She offered Arthas another shaky smile, before offering him a piece of her bread.

"Let's forget about this for now. You need to eat. And judging by the way Varian is snoring, it sounds like you have time for a long, leisurely breakfast. I don't think he'll be waking anytime soon."

Arthas took the bread from her and they passed the next half hour in companionable silence. They even took a brief hike just outside the campsite, and surveyed the surrounding area from a nearby cliff. Jaina was surprised that she could still see the tall spire of the Theramore mage tower looming far off in the distance, partially obstructed by clouds. They would need to travel much farther from the Alliance base, she thought apprehensively, if they were to remain under the radar for much longer.

She had not even considered that Varian's entourage would have come looking for him by now, and the thought made her heart pound loudly in her chest. _I must convince Varian to stay with us, and then find a way to through his entourage off our trail, _she thought silently as they returned to the campsite. Although she had enjoyed her time alone with Arthas, she knew that it was Varian with whom she really needed to speak with that morning.

Varian grumbled softly as he saw Jaina and Arthas returning to the campsite, walking much too close together for his comfort.

"I see you've wasted no time getting reacquainted with one another," he sneered as he piled more wood onto the fire. But as he stared at the newly reunited couple, Varian could not help but wonder if Arthas was at least—even partially—telling the truth about having no remembrance of his time as the Lich King. Not that it excused him from the atrocities he had committed. Not even close, Varian thought determinedly, as he tossed a stray twig into the blazing flame. But it did make Varian sympathize with Arthas just a little more, if only because of his own dark history with amnesia.

There was a warning tone in Jaina's voice when she spoke next.

"If you are going to travel with us, Varian, then you could at least make an effort to be more civil." Jaina glared at him steadily, but when she spoke again, her voice was more teasing than harsh.

"Unless your plan was to leave in the morning. I can't imagine the King of Stormwind is a big fan of roughing it in the woods."

Varian scoffed and returned Jaina's playful stare. He could not help but rise to the challenge.

"I told you I would remain in your company, Jaina. And I intend to do so until I am certain you are in no danger." His eyes darkened for a moment as his gaze shifted to Arthas, who was watching the exchange awkwardly.

"But you can't keep running forever. At some point, you will have to deal with the consequence of your actions."

Jaina swallowed nervously, choosing not to respond to Varian's words. They both _knew _it was coming—Arthas and she. They would have to emerge from this strange bubble they had created, and face the consequences of Arthas' terrifying past, whatever they were. The best plan for now, Jaina reassured herself, was to have every possible resource at her disposal so that Arthas' return would not be a disaster. And ensuring Varian's loyalty was a big part of helping them both return to a normal existence.

Jaina smiled broadly at Varian, hoping to change the direction of their conversation. But as she did, the harsh rumble of voices sounded from the plateau beneath their campsite. There were three voices—two male and one female—speaking in unmistakeable orcish. Jaina recognized right away the low and guttural grunts of the language from her diplomatic missions to the west. She had even managed to pick up some of the basic orcish vocabulary during her travels.

But these intruders were most certainly not official dignitaries from Orgrimmar. Any member of the Horde who travelled this close to Theramore would need explicit permission from the royal guard, and would be travelling in a far larger, and more dignified party than the one below. These orcs were most likely part of a renegade band of warriors, sent to pillage and plunder the Alliance outposts throughout the Dustwallow Marsh. It was customary for groups of mercenaries to attack Theramore at least once or twice a year, and the Alliance had always retaliated, sending their own troops deep into the Barrens to cut off supply routes to Orgrimmar.

But this time was different, Jaina thought apprehensively. They were in the middle of the forest, practically unarmed, and Varian would immediatley be recognized as the King of the enemy. Jaina whirled around quickly, her eyes falling on her two companions, their stances already positioned for battle. And for a moment, time seemed to stop. It was as if it were a decade earlier, and she was back in Lordaeron, practicing her magic alongside her two closest friends while they duelled one another, always trying to outsmart the other. How simple life had been then—before Northrend and Ner'zhul, before broken hearts and misunderstandings, and a mysterious blade whose whereabouts were still unknown.

Jaina shook her head roughly, willing herself to return to the present. Although she could no longer see the approaching party, she could hear their voices coming closer as they followed the steep mountain path, winding their way slowly to the cliff where Jaina and her companions were standing. They needed to get out of here, Jaina thought desperately. And fast.

Pushing back her sleeves roughly, Jaina startled both Arthas and Varian by grabbing their hands and holding them in place while she murmured the teleportation spell.

It was a full minute later before she felt her feet hit solid ground again, and a few moments more before she allowed herself to relase the breath she had been holding, hoping desperately that she had successfully removed them from the path of danger. But as she opened her eyes and took in the scene before her, she saw something even more alarming and terryfing than she had moments before.

Varian gasped and Jaina cursed herself loudly, wishing she could erase what she had done. She had been thinking about her past—not concentrating hard enough on her spell to really plan where they were going.

Jaina turned immediately to Arthas, searching his face for a reaction as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered desperately. "I'm so sorry."

Arthas stared blankly ahead, a dull ache thrumming painfully in his chest. On the bank beneath them, shrouded in the purple mist of early dawn, was the Undercity, former capital of Lordaeron.


	15. Chapter 15

"I want to go into the palace," Arthas said solemnly, his wide eyes staring blankly at the scene before him.

Jaina shook her head sadly and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You can't, Arthas."

Arthas gulped as he squinted desperately to see the state the city was in. Although he recognized the tall spires towering over the palace, he noticed that the architectural elements of the city had been modified in a terrifying way. Large, rounded wagons emitting a strange green glow dotted the courtyard in front of the palace gates, and tattered flags emblazoned with a strange symbol hung from the lampposts, which creaked eerily in the breeze. Although he could not immediately identify the tabard, Arthas got the sickening feeling that he had seen it before—perhaps even on a battlefield.

Varian grunted loudly from the other side of Arthas, registering his distaste of the scene before them.

"The undead have completely taken over the Capital City," he said bitterly. "It is no longer safe for members of the Alliance."

Arthas shook his head roughly, willing himself to maintain his composure. Only a decade before, he had strode confidently through the city gates, nodding politely to the guards as he passed through the throne room to his private quarters. He had decorated his chamber with relics from the kingdom of Lordaeron, including swords from great battles and ancient tabards. It had become a private hobby of his—to take what was lost in the distant past and restore it to his former glory. In his lessons with his private tutor, Arthas had always been enchanted by the stories of great Lordaeron warriors who had fought justly for the Alliance in the decades before his birth.

And now it was all gone, Arthas thought desperately. The entire kingdom where his family had lived and breathed, wiped out in one terrifying stroke.

"But if the city is taken, then why isn't the Alliance trying to take it back?" Arthas' voice was harsh as he struggled to understand what had happened, staring disbelievingly at the morbid scene below him.

"Why haven't we done something?" His breath was coming quickly now as a terrible sense of panic flooded through him.

"Why haven't _you _done something?" Arthas had turned to Varian and was pointing an accusing finger in his direction, his eyes wide and desperate.

"You're supposed to be the King of Stormwind, Varian! And yet you have let one of the greatest human kingdoms in all of Azeroth fall to some ridiculous army of undead!" Arthas pushed his palm roughly to Varian's chest as he spat out his next words. "How could you let this happen?"

Varian stood in disbelief for a single moment before springing to action. "How could _I _let this happen? _You _were the one who succumbed to the Lich King's power!" Varian's dark eyes flared with anger as he shoved Arthas back, his hand already reaching for his sword. "It was you who let this kingdom fall, not I."

Arthas sneered at Varian, but a flash of pain registered in his face as he struggled to regain his balance. "A true king would not abandon his friends so readily," he said in a low voice.

There had been a time, not so long ago, when Arthas would have willingly given his life for Varian, even in spite of their frequent quarrels. After Varian had been delivered to the Lordaeron palace following the First War, he and Arthas had truly become brothers in the Menethil household. He had looked up to Varian, Arthas thought desperately. And now Varian had let him down when he needed him the most. If Arthas had not been strong enough to resist the call of Frostmourne, then surely Varian could have done something to stop its power from ravaging all of Azeroth. Varian had a duty to Lordaeron as his adopted home—to protect it from harm. To protect it from _me_, Arthas thought grimly, his mouth curling into an angry sneer.

"Why didn't you stop this from happening?" Arthas' voice cracked on the last word, and he slumped to the ground, feeling a fresh sense of self-pity wash over him. Truthfully, he felt utterly stupid for trying to attack Varian. But it had been a rash impulse—an unwarranted response to seeing his homeland ravaged and left in pieces.

Jaina seized the moment to step between the two men, her hands outstretched and her face drawn. "If you two don't cease this at once," she said softly, "then the noise will be enough to alert the death guards. And I don't suppose you want to reveal yourself, King Varian, amongst these bands of Horde." Although her heart ached for the pain Arthas was going through, Jaina strengthened her resolve to keep her emotions at bay. Enough was enough, she thought determinedly. There was no way she would allow Arthas and Varian to come to blows, not here in the middle of Horde territory, where armed sentries roamed freely.

"I'm sorry, Jaina." Arthas' voice was thick as he raised his head and wiped his hand roughly across his eyes.

Varian took the opportunity to replace his sword in his scabard, suddenly feeling very tired and worn. There was something unsettling in Arthas' expression, he considered seriously. Something Varian had not yet noticed until then.

It was _remorse. _

Varian was filled with a sense of genuine disbelief as he took in Arthas' ashen face and the sad slump of his shoulders. Since the moment they had become reacquainted, he had not noticed any sign of guilt in Arthas' expression.

But perhaps he had not been paying close enough attention, Varian considerd contritely.

"It'll get better eventually." The words of sympathy escaped Varian's mouth before he could stop them, and he cursed himself silently for showing such weakness in the presence of a potential foe. But seeing Arthas' reaction to his fallen kingdom—his utter despair at the fate his family had met—made Varian think more of the man he had known many years ago than the death knight who had threatened his kingdom in recent years.

"Once you start to remember, things won't be so confusing. So vague."

Jaina glanced at Varian appreciatively before kneeling beside Arthas on the ground.

"You should listen to him, Arthas. He has had his own share of experiences with memory loss."

When Jaina had received Varian into Theramore on the eve of his reappearance just a few years ago, she had been shocked at how distant and confused he was. He had not even recognized Jaina at first and then had refused her help, saying he could take care of himself. It had taken time for Varian to allow Jaina back into his life, and for a while after, his memories of their time together were still jumbled and confused.

If anyone knows about carving a new identity, Jaina thought determinedly, it was Varian Wrynn. As she gazed at the King, she suddenly felt a swell of pride as she considered how well he had recovered from his dark days as Lo'Gosh. Jaina marvelled at how he had rekindled his relationship with his son and become a better father. At how he had helped her through her terrible grief following Arthas' disappearance with immeasurable patience and understanding.

_Help him, _Jaina willed silently, as she held Varian's gaze. _Help him remember who he once was._

But as Varian opened his mouth to speak, Arthas raised his head, his face pale and drawn.

"I want to visit my father's grave."

Varian gazed at Jaina apprehensively as she shook her head sadly, her eyes already filling with tears.

"You can't, Arthas. His grave is located within the city walls. There's no way we can breach the city's defences."

As Arthas stared numbly ahead, Varian felt a fresh wave of pity wash over him. If there was anything Varian understood, he thought grimly, it was the desire to feel connected to his family—to his heritage. When his own father had passed, Varian had been immediately swept off to Lordaeron and had been denied the chance to attend his father's funeral. It was something he regretted even to this day, in spite of the fact that he had visited the elder Wrynn's grave many times in adulthood.

The sun climbed higher in the sky as the three companions sat in solemn silence, gazing forlornly at the crumbling palace before them. But after a few moments, Jaina gasped, struck by a sudden inspiration. "Wait. I've got an idea," she exclaimed softly.

Varian and Arthas looked on in confusion as Jaina slipped deftly into the forest behind them, and in a matter of moments they had followed close at her heels.

Jaina squinted carefully in the dark underbrush of the forest, searching . It had to still be there somewhere, she thought determinedly. After all, the forest surrounding the Capital City had emerged largely unscathed from the Lich King's attack.

As she reached the crest of a small ravine, Jaina spotted an old oak tree, its branches curling majestically into the clear morning sky.

Three sets of initials were carved messily into the trunk.

_JP. AM. VW._

Jaina smiled sadly as she ran her long fingers over the letters and Varian gasped in recognition when he saw the inscription, feeling immediately as though a large lump had formed in his throat.

Only Arthas regarded the tree oddly, as though he did not know what to make of the inscription. But when Jaina took his hand and grinned at him widely he suddenly remembered the day on which it was carved.

It had been an uncharacteristically sunny for a day in late autumn, and the three friends had hiked into the hilltops above the Lordaeron palace, wanting to capitalize on the surprising bout of good weather. Arthas had brought his father's knife along, and when he spotted the large oak tree, he could not resist leaving his mark. Jaina had taken some convincing—she was worried that the carvings would harm the tree—but she had grinned when she spotted the large heart which Arthas had inscribed around his name, leaving room enough for her initials. Varian had rolled his eyes, but had taken the knife and added his own initials last with characteristic strength and dexterity. Then they had all stood back and admired their work.

Arthas sighed heavily as he considered how drastically their circumstances had changed since that day in the forest, and Jaina, sensing his sadness, stopped down gently and plucked a few stray flowers from the forest floor. She glanced at Arthas seriously before laying the makeshift bouquet at the base of the tree.

"It's not your father's grave, Arthas. But it's a memento from your past all the same." She squeezed his hand firmly before taking a small step back to allow him some space.

Arthas' throat was tight as he ran his rough fingers over the inscription, pausing for a moment on his own initials, carved messily into the tree trunk. As his fingertips traced the roughly hewn letters, Arthas was filled with a deep sense of relief. Here was proof that he was indeed Arthas Menethil—that despite all he had endured in Northrend, the name he had been given as a baby still survived and was tied inexorably to his homeland. It was a welcome revelation, and Arthas vowed silently that no one, not even a demon from his past, would be able to take his identity away from him again.

As he stepped back from the inscription, Arthas felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, and suddenly his vision was blurred with tears.

It was Varian, his eyes crinkling as he offered Arthas a small grin. And for a moment, no more words needed to be said.


	16. Chapter 16

This chapter is a little more fluffy, but enjoy!

* * *

><p>Jaina cast a furtive glance towards the horizon. It was almost twilight—the time of day she loved most—and she was feeling surprisingly light and carefree, as if a giant burden had finally been lifted off of her shoulders. Arthas trudged beside her, his head hung low, but a small smile playing on his lips. Jaina imagined that the day's stresses had been tossed headlong into the winds and carried out over the dark mountain tops. They were going to have a good time tonight, Jaina vowed as she studied Arthas in the moonlight. She would make sure of it.<p>

Her first reaction after their emotional encounter in Lordaeron had been to teleport she, Arthas and Varian away from the Undercity gates. She had chosen to take them to the Hinterlands—close enough to an Alliance town, yet far enough from a major capital city for them to risk being caught by the royal guard. The trees here were taller, and would provide much better cover than in Tirisfal Glades. As the fragrant smell of pine and sweet sap filled her nostrils, Jaina smiled, thinking immediately of her summers spent here as a teenager, travelling in the woods beyond Dalaran to seek out reagents and herbs. Perhaps there was time yet to relive some of those memories, now that tensions between Varian and Arthas had been lowered considerably.

When they arrived at their campsite for the evening, Varian had immediately taken off to catch some wild game. But he had spared Arthas a friendly smile as he slipped into the forest. Later, with their bellies full of roast rabbit and sweet tea, Varian had talked animatedly about business in Stormwind as they sat around a roaring campfire. Arthas had been quiet—shy, even—as he listened to Varian recount the details of Anduin Wrynn's first bareback horse ride. He had mastered riding right away, Varian had explained proudly, even if his combat skills still left something to be desired.

It had not been exactly as it was years ago, when Varian had considered Arthas his closest friend, but the day's events had delivered a newfound easiness in his presence which made the conversation flow much more smoothly. During one of her own stories about dragons in Mudsprocket, Jaina had caught Varian's eye and smiled at him graciously.

It had been a good evening, fuelled by the simple pleasure of being in her close friends' presence and basking in the promise of rebuilt friendships and fresh starts. When Varian had yawned widely and proclaimed he was retiring for the night, Jaina had groaned and rolled her eyes playfully.

"But it is early," she teased Varian, pulling lightly on his sleeve as he smiled at her affectionately. Jaina could not explain it. She was so full of energy that she could not even think about getting any sleep, so relieved was she that Varian and Arthas were no longer at blows.

Varian had shaken his head, but offered Jaina a wide smile. "Have you forgotten that I am King of Stormwind, Jaina?" He looked at her playfully, the firelight dancing in his eyes. "We kings need our beauty rest, you know. It's bad enough as it is having to rough it outdoors with the likes of you two!"

Jaina had punched him lightly and gotten to her feet, pulling Arthas with her.

"Fine, you old windbag! Suit yourself. We'll just have to look for fun somewhere else." She had made quite a show of stomping off into the forest, dragging Arthas by the hand, as Varian watched her amusedly, grinning widely.

As she slipped deftly into the forest, Jaina briefly considered that she was much too old and too proper to be behaving in such a manner. But a thrill of exhilaration had seized her, and simply wouldn't let go. She grasped Arthas' hand tighter, her eyes searching in the darkness for the tell-tale lights of the Aerie Peak inn, situated conveniently on the outer edge of the settlement. Although she was serious about her desire to help rekindle Varian's friendship with Arthas, she was secretly pleased to have some time alone with the former Prince.

They had been so occupied in their travels, Jaina realized suddenly, that she had forgotten it was the feast of Hallow's End, honouring the passage of the dead into the great beyond. As the inn came into view, Jaina spotted excited patrons foraging from large candy buckets and barrels brimming with apples. A small female gnome was distributing colourful masks from a jack-o-lantern bin. She was also, Jaina noted amusedly, in the warpath of a dwarven bartender who was trying to appease her unruly customers with mugs of spiced cider. Within a few moments, the dwarf had crashed headlong into the gnome, sending mugs of ale flying into the air and eliciting a raucous cheer from the festive patrons.

Sensing an opportunity, Jaina grinned and slipped deftly through the crowd, snatching two masks from the bin during the distraction. She arrived back at Arthas and promptly handed him one, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"There," she said amusedly. "Now I'm a dwarf and you're a blood elf."

When Arthas took in Jaina's mask, with its large bushy eyebrows and ridiculous grin, he couldn't help but laugh. And Jaina couldn't help but join him. After a few minutes, they were both doubled over with laughter and gasping for air. It was so completely different from the emotions they had been experiencing the past few days that Arthas couldn't help but revel in the moment. He had lost years of life to a terrible evil—had lost his kingdom and his family, and very nearly his closest friends. And yet he could stand here with Jaina and still smile when he was in her company. The very thought made his heart flutter with happiness.

Their masks securely over their faces, Arthas slipped Jaina's arm through his and pulled her into the tavern, still chuckling as he went. Once inside, they stopped for a moment, both inhaling the fragrant smell of pipe smoke and taking in the festive surroundings. Jack-o'-lanterns lined the wooden bar, casting a soft glow across the room, and in the far corner, a ragtag band of gnomes and dwarves were tuning their instruments loudly.

Jaina smiled, but pulled her hood up to cover her hair, just to be sure. They could never be too careful—not this close to Lordaeron, where she would surely be recognized. Arthas Menethil, on the other hand, had not been seen as he looked now in many years. In some ways, Jaina thought ruefully, he was more inconspicuous than she was.

Within a few moments, they heard the swell of music mix with the laughter in the air. Jaina smiled at Arthas excitedly, feeling utterly intoxicated by the festive spirit. Then she grasped Arthas' hands firmly, pulling him onto the dance floor.

"Let's see if you've still got moves."

* * *

><p>Varian stared seriously into the fire, thinking about the day he had just experienced. With Jaina's permission, he had snuck off before dinner to send a missive to Stormwind, informing his court that he was safe and had not been able to find Jaina outside of Theramore. It was a lie, he knew, but there would be plenty of time for him to make amends when he returned home, as he intended to do the following day. Jaina and he had both agreed that it would be best for Varian to keep up the pretence of normality for as long as possible.<p>

"We need to make sure that the dust has settled after the Lich King's demise," Jaina had intoned seriously, "before we even consider reintroducing Arthas to Stormwind."

Varian had nodded, agreeing with her assessment wholeheartedly. His people were most likely upset that he had disappeared so suddenly after such a reviled foe had fallen, and he needed to re-establish their trust.

"In time," Jaina spoke, "You will be able to convince them that Arthas Menethil is no longer controlled by the Lich King's power." Her eyes had narrowed as she studied Varian seriously. "I'm not a fool, Varian, and I know this won't be an easy task. But I can't ignore my instinct which tells me that everything will turn out okay."

Hours later, Varian swallowed nervously as he considered his promise to Jaina—that he would keep Arthas' identity a secret indefinitely. It was not that he regretted their conversation. After their encounter in Lordaeron, he was more convinced now than ever that Arthas Menethil and the Lich King were two different people. But he was not convinced that the rest of his kingdom would ever feel the same way.

He hated keeping secrets from his advisors, especially secrets which could have such a dire impact on his kingdom's future. And more than anything, Varian did not want to betray his people's trust—to say one thing publicly but act differently in private. It was against how he had always ruled his kingdom as an honest and level-headed ruler, always encouraging an open dialogue between his subjects and their King.

Varian stretched out on his back and placed his hands behind his head, gazing up at the clear autumn sky. It would be winter soon, and although the forests outside of Stormwind stayed lush and green all year long, there would be a harsh bite in the air when Varian returned. Brewfest had already come and gone—Varian himself had been in Ironforge to see the tapping of the giant keg during the opening ceremony of the festivities. He had even ridden a brewfest ram to Kharanos and back, as the locals did, to help distribute the brew to the town's residents.

Varian smiled to himself, thinking of the coming winter and the additional celebrations it would bring. The Feast of Winter Veil would surely be magnificent this year, especially in the aftermath of the Lich King's demise. Varian swallowed heavily, his thoughts drifting back to Arthas as he had seen him in Northrend, cold as steel and shrouded in darkness. During the past two winters, when the air in Stormwind turned icy and harsh, Varian had been continuously haunted by his memories of Arthas, hanging over his shoulder like an unwelcome spectre.

But this winter would be different, now that the Lich King was gone and the real Arthas had made his sudden, if still somewhat mysterious appearance. Varian smiled inwardly, thinking of Jaina's bright eyes and radiant smile as they discussed their plans for the future. He would keep his promise to her, as he had always done before, and obey her wishes to set the stage for Arthas' return. Her optimism, after all, was infectious. And even if he was still unsure whether Arthas would ever truly be welcomed back by his kingdom, Jaina's steadfast faith was enough for now.

Almost half an hour later, after Varian had rolled onto his side and as his eyes drifted close, he imagined he and Jaina together, sipping ale in the Stormwind tavern as they had done in the past, a small smile playing on her rosy lips. He almost didn't notice the sound of encroaching footsteps at first, but the tell-tale blast of a trumpet startled Varian immediately.

As he rubbed his face roughly and got to his feet, Varian felt a knot in his stomach beginning to form. He had suspected that Stormwind would send reinforcements to accompany him on his journey home—a few guards and perhaps a servant or two—but it was much too late for a royal entourage to be arriving. Plus, it would be obvious from their campsite that Varian had not been travelling alone. Jaina's sack was tossed on a log just a few feet from the fire, its celestial images shining brightly in the moonlight.

Varian stooped over and tossed the bag into the bushes just as a small party of Alliance soldiers crashed into the campsite, their swords raised high as though they were preparing to face an enemy.

The Alliance captain, a fair-haired man of around forty, breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Varian and lowered his sword immediately, offering the King a shaky smile.

"Your Highness. Forgive this intrusion, but we were sent to find you at once."

As the captain replaced the sword in his scabbard, the other warriors did the same, and they fell into a rough formation behind their leader. One of the soldiers, Varian suspected, was only just out of his teens, his hands trembling as he fumbled with his weapon and stepped into line. His eyes were wide and frightened, as though he had just seen a ghost.

"Has something happened?" Varian's arms were crossed over his wide chest, and he had adopted the authoritative, baritone voice which he reserved for his official meetings with foreign dignitaries.

The young warrior twitched apprehensively at the captain's side, before nudging him in the ribs and encouraging him to speak. Varian's eyes narrowed. Anything which would make a young soldier treat his superior in so disrespectful a manner _had _to be serious.

The captain's eyes were dark and stoic, and his message to-the-point.

"Your Majesty. As I said, I am so sorry to bother you at so late an hour. But we have heard news of a disturbing development back at home. "

As he spoke, Varian felt the knot in his stomach twist tighter, as though a heavy rope had been tied across his torso.

"We have made arrangements for you to return to Stormwind at once," the captain said seriously. "There is reason to believe that Arthas Menethil is still alive."


	17. Chapter 17

As the sun began to rise over Dun Morogh, Varian groaned and shielded his eyes against the intense rays. They had been riding all night, and his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion.

Varian looked to his right and gave the two paladins riding alongside him a curt nod. They would be at Ironforge soon, and then on to Stormwind via the Deeprun Tram. While the prospect of a meal and a warm drink was supremely enticing after such a long journey, he could not help but feel anxious as they got closer and closer to home.

"We have reason to believe that Arthas Menethil is still alive." The captain's grave words from the night before still rang in Varian's mind and filled him with a sense of dread.

"How sure are you?" He had choked out, barely able to form the words as his mind was sent reeling.

The captain's terse response had allayed his fear somewhat, if only superficially.

"We can't confirm anything yet, Your Highness. But we must return to Stormwind at once. Archmage Yera has requested an immediate audience with you."

Varian had nodded mutely and mounted the large brown stallion which had been fetched from the stables at Aerie Peak. It was a strong horse, used to making long trips back and forth across the northern Eastern Kingdoms to replenish supply stores at Alliance outposts. Even after hours of travelling over harsh terrain, its hooves still tapped the ground with an efficient _clip-clop. _Varian wished absently that he could borrow some of the horse's energy and enthusiasm, so weary was he after the long ride.

His companions had remained relatively silent throughout the journey, but one of the young squires now emitted a low whistle, his breath forming tiny icicles in the air. Up ahead, illuminated by the strong rays of the rising sun, loomed the gates of Ironforge. The other humans shifted restlessly in their saddles, eager to be out of the cold and to bask in the heat generated by the city's large forge.

Once through the gates, the city's immense stone walls echoed the sound of horses' hooves as the small party trotted through the main Commons. As they went, Varian was secretly relieved to see that Ironforge was mostly clear of bystanders, with only the occasional vendor traversing the long hallways. It was, after all, too early in the morning for most residents to be out conducting business. Only one lone gnome seemed to recognize the human King atop his tall steed, and he waved at Varian excitedly before offering an uncustomary salute.

Varian smiled politely back and gave a sturdy nod. He was very fond of the gnomes, and genuinely admired their technical skills with robots and gadgets. Their greatest invention, the Deeprun Tram, was situated in Ironforge itself, nestled into the makeshift gnome district which served as a temporary home for the Gnomeregan refugees. If it wasn't for the gnomes, travellers would be forced to make the journey from Ironforge to Stormwind on foot, and that would require crossing the fiery plain of the Burning Steppes, the rumoured home of fierce dragonkin.

Varian sighed in relief as he spotted Tinker Town's whirring cogs just a few paces ahead, feeling immensely thankful for the gnomes' ingenuity. Yes, he thought seriously, he was very fond of the gnomes indeed.

As they approached the entrance to the Deeprun tram, the Alliance captain signalled for the party to dismount, and Varian immediately followed suit.

"We will need to leave the horses in Ironforge, I'm afraid. They are much too big to fit on the tram."

The other members of the party immediately handed off the reins to stable hands who were stationed just outside the Tinker Town inn. Varian gave his horse's muzzle a reassuring pat before doing the same.

Now that they were on their feet, exhaustion seemed nearer at hand. Several of the squires yawned sleepily and stretched before trudging reluctantly through the tram gates. The steel, grey interior of the tunnel was surprisingly large and airy, and several dwarven technicians waved at the party as they made their way to the track. One of the technicians was using a crude wooden staff to chase away the large sewer rats which made their home in the tunnel walls.

Varian had once heard that the rodents were considered an edible delicacy by some Ironforge residents, and were even made into seasoned kabobs. Seeing their long, scaly tails and beady red eyes, he was suddenly revolted at the thought. Not for the first time, Varian was grateful that he was born a human and not a dwarf or gnome. Catching dinner in a steel tunnel, with only a crude weapon in hand, was something he hoped he never had to experience.

They did not have to wait long at the track platform—only a few short moments—before a large open train rumbled into the station, carrying with it a few wide-eyed passengers from Stormwind. Varian strode forward and chose a car near the back of the tram, hoping to remain concealed from view during the short ride home. He needed time to think—to process what had happened—before he faced Archmage Yera in the royal chambers.

Although he had not mentioned her name during their entire journey home, Jaina had never been far from Varian's mind, and his recollection of their last interaction now sent daggers of regret through his chest. Not for the first time, Varian wondered why he had let Jaina disappear with Arthas for the evening, while he remained back at the campsite alone. He had been given no opportunity to warn Jaina of his disappearance, so swift had been his departure with the royal guard.

And while Varian was seriously concerned about Jaina's reaction to his disappearance, he could only imagine what Arthas would be thinking, especially in light of the past few days. Arthas, more than Jaina, would probably see his disappearance as a betrayal, and truthfully, Varian could not even blame him for thinking so. The childhood friend with whom he had only recently begun to rekindle his relationship, suddenly vanished into thin air without any explanation- it was a stunning turn of events and one which Varian deeply regretted.

They were in Stormwind now, and the excited murmurs of the tram passengers reached a fevered pitch as they stumbled off the train and poured out into the Dwarven District. Here, as in Ironforge, only a few residents were visible in the dim light, setting up vendor stands or taking an early morning stroll before the crowds became too thick. Varian fell into step behind his entourage and was thankful that the journey to the Stormwind Keep was largely without incident, with only a few curious dwarves pausing to greet their King and say hello.

The smell of freshly baked bread was in the air as Varian mounted the stone steps of the Keep entrance, thankful to finally be within the palace walls. As he reached the throne room, he was unsurprised to see Archmage Yera waiting for him, tapping his foot impatiently on the smooth marble floor.

Varian strode forward purposefully and the mage bowed in greeting. Then he motioned for them to be seated at a small wooden table to the side of the room. A male servant soon appeared with cups of steaming peacebloom tea, and Varian smiled at him graciously.

Archmage Yera studied his hands briefly before clearly his throat to speak.

"You must know, your Highness, that I am the bearer of bad news. The most experienced mages in Dalaran have finally completed a detailed survey of the citadel room where the Lich King was last seen."

Yera took a sip of tea before looking at Varian thoughtfully.

"I don't suppose you've been there, have you, Your Highness?"

Varian shook his head softly and returned the mage's gaze, feeling his throat tighten immediately.

"The citadel is shrouded in a dark magic, and remains a treacherous destination for even the most experienced adventurer. But we have determined definitively that the power of the Lich no longer resides within the citadel walls."

Varian smiled weakly at Yera. "This was as you suspected, Archmage. I am pleased to hear that the Lich King is no longer a threat in Northrend. But I suspect you have more to tell me."

Yera's face darkened as he twitched uncomfortably in his seat. "Indeed I do, Your Highness. While the investigation was being conducted in Northrend, I scoured hundreds of tomes for information about the Lich King's power. The Lich King is, as I am sure you are aware, a very ancient enemy of Azeroth, although he has only recently been resurrected in human form. "

Varian nodded gravely, before encouraging the mage to continue.

"Over the last few days, I have felt a sense of peace wash over Northrend which has been absent for many years. But this peace is dangerously misleading, your Highness. My research has unearthed a truth about the Lich King's power which was previously unknown."

Yera paused, his voice dropping to a low whisper, and Varian leaned in closer, his heart pounding wildly.

"It seems, your Highness, that the Lich King is imbued with such immense power that Lady Proudmoore most certainly failed to fully defeat him in the citadel. The servants of the Lich will go to great lengths to preserve the longevity of their master—to ensure that there is always a Lich King to protect and serve. And since we found no body in the citadel after Lady Jaina returned, we can only surmise one thing: Arthas Menethil is almost certainly alive."

Varian's eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"You mean the reason he survived in the citadel—_if _he survived, I mean—was because some strange forcefield was protecting him?" Varian recalled Jaina's description of the battle—how she had disarmed him and knocked him unconscious, before teleporting back to Dalaran. She hadn't mentioned anything about a forcefield, but then again, how could she have known?

Yera nodded gravely. "Even if the power of the Lich is gone, the vessel of that power—the body of Arthas Menethil—has most likely been preserved. The servants of the Lich need only restore that power to their Master's body, and the Lich King will be resurrected."

As he paused to take a sip of tea, the mage's gaze significantly softened.

"I realize this must be quite a shock to you, especially given your personal history with Arthas Menethil. It must have been hard enough these past few years, but now that Arthas has escaped the citadel and is roaming freely throughout Azeroth..." Yera trailed off and looked at the King regretfully, and Varian felt a pang of guilt as he considered just how much he was hiding from this kind-hearted mage, whose only goal was to keep Azeroth safe. He sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair.

"I appreciate your sympathy, Archmage, but my most important concern is keeping my subjects safe. And if Arthas Menethil is at large, then he is a danger to my people. He has murdered hundreds of innocent victims, and whether or not he is truly free of the Lich King's grasp, he is personally responsible for the near destruction of my kingdom."

Varian cleared his throat loudly, hoping that Yera would not detect the insincerity in his next words.

"Besides, I have not thought of Arthas Menethil as a friend for many years."

Yera smiled at Varian graciously, feeling immensely relieved with his proclamation."I will arrange for Dalaran scouts to begin a thorough search of Northrend, with your permission. With the threat of the Lich King's resurrection so close at hand, I believe it is imperative that we apprehend Arthas Menethil as quickly as possible."

"And bring him to justice," Varian added sternly, for good measure.

Again, Yera smiled graciously, before standing and bowing deeply before the King. "Your people are lucky to have such a brave and just ruler, Your Highness. And I know that with Stormwind's cooperation, we will at last bring this terrifying chapter of Azeroth's history to an end."

Varian stood stiffly and watched the fluid, graceful steps of the mage as he left the throne room for the palace gates. Then, after a few, tense moments, he turned on his heel and headed briskly for his chambers.

As if it was not enough that he was lying to his kingdom, now an entire search party was going to be looking for Arthas, and Varian could only imagine what would happen if he was found. _When _he was found, he amended silently. The combined forces of Stormwind and Dalaran would easily locate the renegade prince in a matter of days, Varian was sure of it.

Inside his chamber, the King was surprised to find a female servant laying out his bedclothes on the nightstand, ready for use.

"You have a long day ahead of you, your Highness," the servant said gently as she offered Varian a curtsey. "You'd best get some rest while you can."

Varian nodded and smiled weakly, hoping he could stave off exhaustion long enough to form a decent plan for the hours ahead. It would be a long day indeed.


	18. Chapter 18

I apologize for the long delay between updates. I hope you enjoy the next chapter! :)

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><p>"I'm <em>so <em>tired," Jaina groaned as she shuffled heavily through the piles of autumn leaves. All of a sudden, she stopped and yawned loudly, before smiling sleepily at the man walking alongside her.

Arthas grinned back, and wrapped a strong, supportive arm around the mage's shoulders.

"I'm not surprised, given the way you were dancing tonight." He chuckled softly, remembering the way that she had crashed into a barmaid during one of her more energetic solos on the dance floor. She had apologized profusely and even offered to buy the disgruntled dwarf a drink.

It had been a good night—full of laughter and music—and Arthas was very sorry to see it end.

But he was tired, too, and his limbs ached painfully as he steered his companion along the dark forest path. He had all but dragged her out of the Aerie Peak inn far after the stroke of midnight, not wanting Varian to worry unduly about their whereabouts for much longer. Jaina had trudged dutifully alongside him through the forest at first, but now she seemed content taking her time returning to the campsite, where Arthas hoped a late-night meal and a hot cup of tea lay waiting.

"You know, it's strange, isn't it?" Jaina said suddenly. "Tonight, I was almost able to forget what had happened these past few years. It was as if nothing had changed." She studied Arthas curiously, her face brilliant in the silvery moonlight. "Except it has changed...everything has. And sometime soon, we are going to have to deal with the consequences."

Arthas offered Jaina a sad smile before stopping abruptly and pulling her into an embrace. It was all he could do, after everything she had done for him, to comfort her in these tense moments, when they both realized the gravity of their situation. But it was Jaina who stepped back after a few moments of comfortable silence and inclined her head in the direction of the campsite.

"We'd better get back. I can't imagine what kind of trouble Varian has gotten into without us." She took a few tentative steps towards the forest before reaching down and hiking her long robes up to her knees. "Come on, slowpoke. I'll race you there."

As Jaina darted gracefully into the woods, Arthas wasted no time following her and he soon matched her pace. It felt good to be this athletic again, and Arthas breathed in the crisp night air hungrily. Following Jaina's lead, he let the dappled light of the full moon guide his way. And it was only a few moments later when he arrived back at the campsite, almost crashing into the mage as he stumbled into the small clearing.

"Varian's gone." Although Jaina's voice was suprisingly clear and clam, it took Arthas a few moments to comprehend her words. She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the campfire, which had been reduced to only smoldering embers.

Arthas struggled to find his voice as he felt his throat inexplicably tighten.

"In the middle of the night?" Taking a deep breath, he ran a broad hand through his pale hair, which had been mussed considerably on their journey through the forest. Looking around the campsite, Arthas confirmed that Jaina was telling the truth. There was no sign of the stalwart human king, nor any of his possessions.

A mixture of fear and anger rose up inside him as he studied Jaina for a reaction. "But how could he just leave, without telling us first?"

"I don't know." Jaina was still staring blankly at the fire, her arms clamped rigidly to her sides.

The mage's inexpressiveness, coupled with his own exhaustion, made Arthas nearly boil over with frustration. They had _trusted_ Varian to keep watch while they took the night off. He had _promised _them that he would keep the campsite safe- that he would not ever reveal their location to any outsiders. And now he had disappeared into the night, like a slim whisp of smoke.

"It's obvious he was planning to leave us all along. Why else would he have chosen to spend the night here alone?" Arthas cursed angrily, barely able to contain his rage.

At his words, Jaina suddenly snapped into action and turn her wide eyes to him.

"Maybe he was taken hostage? He could be in trouble," she whispered fearfully.

But Arthas shook his head as he scooped up a nearby twig, snapping it roughly in his hands before tossing it into the firepit.

"There's no sign of any struggle, Jaina. He must have left on his own free will."

Jaina took a steadying breath as she tried to process what Arthas was saying. He was right, of course. The campsite looked pristine—cleaner, even, than how they had left it earlier that evening. The crooked twigs they had used for roasting meat were stacked neatly against a nearby tree, and the firewood they had collected was piled into one corner. It was clear even from a casual glance that Varian had disappeared for more than just a midnight stroll.

Jaina circled the campsite thoughtfully, before almost tripping over a small piece of fabric nestled into the weeds at the site's outskirts.

"My bag!" Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as she hoisted the sack up and into the dim light of the embers. "But why was it over here?" As she pulled open the bag and started rooting through it, her face suddenly dawned with comprehension.

"Of course!" Jaina scrambled over to Arthas, thrusting the bag roughly into his hands. "The reason why the campsite is so pristine...why my bag was hidden in the bushes. The royal guard must have shown up to find Varian. And he didn't want them to know we were with him!"

Arthas resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he tossed another twig angrily into the fire.

"You're too trusting, Jaina," he grumbled softly. "How do we know he hasn't betrayed us? Perhaps he's gone back to turn me in- to turn us both in- before he becomes implicated in this whole mess any further."

The mage's hands were on his own as she shook her head softly. "There's something I haven't told you, Arthas. We planned this- Varian and I. We planned for him to return to Stormwind tomorrow morning. He was going to talk to the royal council, and lay the groundwork for our return. Then we were going to finalize our plans to finally bring you home."

Arthas stared at her incredulously for a moment. "But why didn't you tell me this earlier?"

The mage smiled as she gazed wistfully into the fire.

"I know you, Arthas. And I know the reaction you would have had. You've already been so angry with me, risking my life to keep you safe and give you time to heal. And I know you wouldn't have wanted Varian to do the same. Not so soon after the Lich King's defeat. But I didn't think we had any choice. You have to believe me."

Arthas' throat was suddenly tight as he considered the lengths Jaina continued to go for him, and he smiled at her graciously. There was never any doubt, of course, that he trusted her completely.

"I believe you, Jaina. But how do we know for sure that Varian has indeed returned to Stormwind?"

Jaina's expression was serious as she studied him in the light of the crackling embers. Then she opened her bag and reached in a small, pale hand.

"We don't know for sure, Arthas. But I know how we can find out." After a few moments of rifling through her bag, Jaina produced a strange, round stone and looked at Arthas triumphantly. She guided her thumb over the stone's surface, and it suddenly came alight.

Arthas' eyes widened as he studied the bright object in the mage's hands. It was runed, with small flecks of gold dust covering its entire surface. Then he watched as Jaina turned the stone expertly in her hands—once, twice, three times—before setting it gently on the ground in front of her.

"We need to find out about Varian's whereabouts. And there's only one way to do it." With a burst of light, a brilliant mirage, about the height of Jaina herelf, sprung out of the runestone and floated softly above the ground. Although it had been many years since he had last seen the interior of Stormwind keep, Arthas immediately recognized the blurry outline of the palace garden projected in the mirage.

"This hearthstone is connected directly to the Stormwind palace," Jaina confirmed with a nod. "It's how Varian and I were going to stay in touch." Her face was flushed with determination as she studied the projected image. "It's how we can make sure that Varian is safe. I'll teleport to the palace and talk to him directly."

Arthas shook his head roughly as he caught Jaina's hand, holding her firmly in place.

"I can't let you do this Jaina. As the most prized student in Dalaran, you will attract too much attention."

Jaina grinned as the mirage suddenly brightened. "You should know by now that I am no longer a student of Dalaran. And as an official archmage of the Kirin Tor, I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve to get around Stormwind unnoticed."

Slinging her back over her shoulder, Jaina dropped Arthas a friendly wink. "I can be in and out of the palace within minutes, I assure you. And as long as I can trust you won't get into any trouble, everything will turn out fine."

The apparition brightened even further and Jaina took a deep breath before stepping into the portal. But as the familiar wave of arcane warmth washed over her limbs, she suddenly felt seized by a sense of apprehension.

_Was she doing the right thing by sneaking into Stormwind alone?_ While Jaina had anticipated leaving Arthas at some point to rendezvous with Varian, she had expected that the king would be the first to make contact. And what if Varian had not even returned home by the time she arrived? The thought of having to explain her sudden appearance in Stormwind to the royal court- or worse, to Archmage Yera- was a terrifying prospect.

Jaina squeezed her hands together tightly, willing herself to control her overwhelming anxiety. But as she felt her feet begin to lift off the ground, she sensed another presence, comforting and warm, join her in the protective sphere of the arcane. A flash of sea-green eyes hovered before her vision, just before the portal engulfed her completely.

His voice disembodied as they shot through the air, Jaina felt a strange mix of fear and relief wash over her as she heard Arthas' sudden command.

"You'll go to Stormwind." His voice intoned firmly. "But I'm coming with you."

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><p>The creak of an old chair made Varian jump up immediately, and he realized that he had been dozing off, a quill still clutched tightly in his broad hand. He had wanted to work on some paperwork in his chamber—the throne room had been far too loud and busy since his return- but it seemed as though sleep had finally caught up with him.<p>

Varian sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair, before kicking off his boots and planting his feet on the heavy wooden table. He had arranged to eat dinnner with Anduin, and maybe spend a few hours reading to him before bedtime, one of his favourite past times. But even the promise of some long-overdue time with his son could do little to delay the sudden wave of exhaustion which washed over him.

As his eyes slowly drifted shut, Varian caught a glimpse of a cat —thin and golden in colour—carefully prowling his window ledge. And with a loud meow, the feline had Varian fully awake in a matter of minutes. Grumbling in irritation, the king stood up and began walking to the door of his chamber, intent on fetching one of his personal servants. It was clear that he would need to have the pest removed before he could get any more much-needed sleep.

But as he yawned and stretched his broad arms, Varian noticed that the feline was suddenly emmitting a strange crackling mist. Within a few moments, the cat was completely shrouded in purple smoke, and Varian heard the familiar _whoosh _of a polymorph spell. As the mist dissipated, he gasped as a slender figure, over half his height tall, and with long, golden hair, stood regally where the feline had once been. She grinned at him triumphantly, before dusting off her long fingers on her woven robe.

It was Jaina Proudmoore, in the flesh.

"I'm sorry, Varian. I couldn't risk being seen," she whispered softly, before striding forward and pulling him into a tight embrace.

"We've been so worried. I needed to make sure you were alright."

Varian smiled faintly as he stepped back and studied Jaina's worried expression. He was, as always, very happy to see his dear friend, but her presence here meant that he would have to divulge the reason for his sudden return home.

Taking a few steps back, he offered Jaina a seat, which she gratefully accepted.

"The climb up to your windowsill was quite exhausting," she noted with a grin. "I can't imagine how we managed to do that so energetically as children."

Varian's face broke into an easy smile as he took a seat opposite Jaina and offered her a mug of tea. "As I remember it, I was the only one doing the climbing. You and Arthas were waiting down below, taking wagers on how far up I could go before I lost my grip and fell."

Jaina laughed freely before raising the mug to her lips. "You were always so quick to join our adventures, even then." She took a generous gulp of the wam liquid before replacing the mug on the table. "And I'm afraid we've asked you to do the same once again. You must know, Varian, that we've been worried sick about you. When you left the campsite...I couldn't help but fear the worst."

Varian shook his head and waved his hand impatiently. "There will be time to explain everything that happened once we both get some rest." He paused, before leaning over the table conspiratorially. "But I must tell you now, Jaina, that you were right to take every precaution in coming to Stormwind today."

Jaina's lips pressed into a tight line as she regarded her friend. In just a few hours, the mage noted, Varian seemed to have aged considerably, and his face was pale and drawn. Instinctively, she reached across the table and lightly squeezed his hand.

"I can tell something is troubling you, Varian. But you must tell me everything you know. We promised to have no more secrets between us."

Varian nodded his head slowly. The more time they wasted, the more dire their situation would become. He squeezed her hand back gently in return, hoping the physical contact would help soften the blow of his next words.

"I regret having to return to Stormwind so suddenly, but there was indeed a good reason for my departure." Varian paused, taking a moment to study the mage's face carefully.

"They know Arthas is alive, Jaina. They are out looking for him at this very moment. And that means you are both in grave danger."


	19. Chapter 19

Hi everyone :) I realize that it has been much, much too long since I've updated this story. Real life has simply got in the way. I am not sure if there is still interest, but I'm going to try and start writing again anyway. I like these characters too much to give it up :) Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading the next chapter!

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><p>"...one hundred and twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight.."<p>

Arthas sighed heavily and squatted lower in the bushes. His limbs were beginning to ache from the uncomfortable position, and the rising sun was now beating down on his exposed neck, causing the skin there to prickle painfully.

"...one hundred and twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one..."

He had been counting under his breath for awhile now, although it was doing little to pass the time. Jaina had assured him that she would make her visit with Varian as brief as possible, but Arthas was beginning to suspect that the two old friends had lost track of time, and were extending their reunion as long as possible. Arthas groaned as he shifted his weight, attempting to remove the small stone which was pressing painfully into his foot. He had wanted to accompany her into Varian's chambers, of course, but at Jaina's insistence, had been left squatting in the bushes in the palace courtyard, safely hidden from the guards and under the protection of one of Jaina's invisibility spells.

Suffice to say, this was not how he had imagined making his return to this magnificent city. Over the past few days, following his conversations with Jaina and Varian, he had allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy of some day riding into Stormwind atop a great steed—white, of course, like his beloved Invincible—and waving proudly at the crowds of onlookers as he passed by, on the way to the Keep.

It would be just as it had years ago, when he had been customarily greeted in Stormwind amidst great royal fanfare. Jaina would be with him too, of course, sitting astride a sleek black mare and wearing a broad grin. Even during her student days in Dalaran, it was rare for her not to accompany him on an official visit to Stormwind, and he had loved having her beside him.

Arthas chuckled to himself softly, thinking of the way Jaina had always managed to squeeze in a quick study session during those early visits to Stormwind. When they were young, he had never known whether it was best to encourage Jaina to take more time off from her studies, or to simply let her be.

Arthas recalled with a small smile a cold winter's night years ago, when he and Jaina had sat in companionable silence in one of the palace's vast guestrooms- she at a desk in the far corner, and Arthas in a plush, velvet chair near the roaring hearth. While Jaina had her head buried in a large, golden tome, Arthas had been feeling particularly restless after a day of horseback riding outside the city walls. Stealing across the room in a few purposeful steps, he had plucked the book from Jaina's hands, holding it just out of her reach as he inspected the title.

"What's this book about, anyway?" He asked teasingly, holding the book just out of Jaina's reach. "Conjuration?"

Immediately, the mage had frowned, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Divination," she corrected. Then she turned to face Arthas, her brow furrowed in irritation. "And if you don't give it back to me, Arthas, then I'm going to fail my exam."

Arthas chuckled and nudged her playfully, but sensing her irritation, he tossed the book back gently into her lap. Taking a seat next to the mage, Arthas stretched his limbs languidly and let out a loud yawn.

"You know Jaina," he said finally. "School isn't everything."

Hunched over her desk, Jaina had looked at Arthas with such fierce intensity in her eyes that his breath had nearly caught. "That's easy for you to say, Prince Arthas. You have a kingdom to rule." She rested her elbow gently on the desk and placed her chin in her hand. Then she gazed thoughtfully out the chamber window, where snowflakes were gently falling.

"Without my studies in Dalaran," she asked quietly, "what else do I have?"

Arthas had gazed back at Jaina in surprise. It hadn't occurred to him, so immersed was he in his familial duties, that his title had ever made her uncomfortable before. After all, Jaina was also from a royal family. Her father, Admiral Proudmoore, ruled the small, but powerful kingdom of Kul Tiras, and Jaina had been afforded the same material luxuries in her youth as Arthas and his sister. But with two older brothers, it was certain that Jaina was never destined to rule her father's kingdom.

It was in those moments, when Arthas was afforded fleeting glimpses of Jaina's vulnerability, that he felt the greatest swells of compassion for the mage. Ever happy to serve as her protector, Arthas had squeezed her hand, gazing at Jaina seriously in the light of the fire. "You have me," he whispered fiercely, and she had nodded appreciatively in return.

His own weaknesses had taken him away from Jaina and what might have been between them. But her career in Dalaran would turn out to be a worthy alternative. Arthas had been sure of it- even years ago when Jaina had barely mastered even the most basic spells from her spell book. Earlier that morning, he had watched amusedly as Jaina quietly polymorphed into a cat and slipped easily past the first line of guards and up to the palace walls. Feeling confident, Jaina had stopped and stretched languidly in her feline form, her tawny hairs rippling as she arched her back dramatically. Arthas stifled a laugh as Jaina emitted a timid _meow. _The raspy sound of the feline voice was so unlike Jaina's own melodic voice that it was scarcely believable they were one and the same. Then she had thrown a sidelong glance to the bushes where Arthas was hiding, before leaping up onto the ledge below the window to Varian's chambers. In just a few moments, she had disappeared from view.

Thinking back to Jaina's graceful transformation, Arthas was suddenly seized with a sense of longing so great that it made his heart pound loudly in his chest. It was the first time he had been this close to his subjects in years, and here he was, hidden amongst the thorny rosebushes outside the Stormwind Keep. Jaina had been entirely successful in eluding the palace guards, and with a spell so basic that a novice could master it in a matter of days. If _she_ was permitted to explore the city a little bit, then why couldn't he? Patience, after all, had never been one of Arthas's virtues.

Shielding his eyes with his hands, Arthas leaned forward to observe the group of burly guards standing a few yards away from him. While the Stormwind guards were known for their physical strength, their ability to detect magical spells left something to be desired. Surely it would be safe enough to take just a quick glance around the city, while Jaina was occupied with official business, he thought soundly.

His decision made, Arthas began to creep through the stone gateway separating the garden from the front courtyard. It was obvious that the palace had recently been remodelled, and Arthas stopped briefly to admire the elaborate flowerbeds which dotted the pathway down to the front steps. In the centre of the courtyard, an enormous statue of Stormwind's king stood watching over the palace. It was a veritable likeness to the real Varian Wrynn, and Arthas grinned as he studied the statue's sharp features. Leave it to Varian to put a statue of himself, armour and all, right in front of his own residence, he thought amusedly.

As he descended into the city's canal district, Arthas felt a sense of easy contentment flood through him. It was here, after all, within the relative safety of Stormwind's great walls, that he had received his first taste of his future duties as a King of the Alliance. Within the walls of the Lordaeron palace, Arthas had been under the strict authority of his mother and father, and in spite of his parents' obvious affection for him, he had always resented this early lack of freedom. Outside the safe cover of his home city, however, Arthas had sunk comfortably into the role of a human prince. And he had loved every minute of it. He had relished the way in which his subjects had looked up to him so diligently, as though there was never any doubt that he was a worthy leader.

With strong, purposeful steps, Arthas strode into the Cathedral District, the place where he had once received the hammer of the paladin and admittance into the Knights of the Silver Hand. With a slight thrill of excitement, Arthas realized this was also the location where he had first become acquainted with Jaina Proudmoore, then a child of seven, on one of his official visits to the city with his father. .

Years ago, he had been sitting on a stone bench in front of the great Stormwind cathedral, waiting impatiently for his father to pay his respects to the archbishop. It was unnaturally warm that day, and his cotton pants had felt scratchy and heavy. Arthas had found the trickle of the Cathedral district fountain intoxicating, and it had taken him only a moment to throw off his pants and shirt, leaving him in his underclothes, before plunging into the cool water.

For a child of eight, swimming in a civic fountain was a rite of passage, especially on such a hot summer's day. But apparently not everyone had felt the same.

"What on earth are you doing?" A golden-haired girl, her brow furrowed in confusion, had appeared at the edge of the fountain a few moments later, a book tucked tidily under her arm.

Arthas had resisted the urge to splash her. Who was this girl, showing up here and chiding him for only wanting to cool off?

"I'm taking a swim, of course. It's too hot to be sitting outside." He had wanted his voice to sound cool and authoritative, but instead it came out as a quiet mumble. There was something about this girl's presence that immediately made him feel tongue-tied.

The girl tossed her golden hair over her shoulder, and Arthas admired the way it shone brightly in the sunlight.

"But why swim in the fountain?" The girl cautiously took a seat on the fountain's ledge, and was now studying Arthas inquisitively.

Arthas shrugged and stretched out on his back, allowing the cool water to keep him afloat. He was doing his best to appear cool and unaffected, but he could tell he liked this girl already.

"I'm a prince, that's why," Arthas pronounced dramatically. "And princes are allowed to do whatever they want, even swim in fountains." He paddled over to the blond girl and gave her a small splash, just enough to wet her robe-covered knees. "Besides, I bet you don't even know _how _to swim!"

Jaina had been tracing languid circles in the water with her hand, but now she jumped to her feet.

"I can too!" she declared loudly. Then she plunged into the water, robe and all. When she resurfaced, her golden hair was plastered against her forehead, and she wore a wicked grin. "But if you really wanted to see me swim, all you had to do was ask."

Their initial, memorable meeting had been followed by hundreds of outings spent at the Stormwind lake, whose waters were so clear that the young Arthas had sworn they were enchanted. Many times in their youth, Varian had joined them to spend a hot summer day sunbathing on the grassy shore. He had been a welcome addition, of course, but in those early days, Arthas had been jealous as he watched Varian cracking jokes with Jaina, her face lively and bright in the warm sunshine.

From the moment he had met her, Arthas had always believed that Jaina brought him good luck . Like a golden coin plucked from the fountains of Dalaran, Jaina was a treasure, and the time they spent together comprised some of the most precious memories of his youth.

But lately, and especially since their trip to the Undercity, Arthas was beginning to sense that these distant memories were beginning to fade, consumed by a darker, and more sinister chapter from his past. Even in broad daylight, certain images from his time as the Lich King surfaced fleetingly in his mind, although Arthas could scarcely remember when and where they had occurred.

Often, he observed a city in flames, and the faces of his subjects contorting into the terrifying visages of the undead. Sometimes, he could even hear his own voice booming mercilessly over the chaos as he slaughtered hundreds of innocent victims...

Arthas shook his head roughly before pressing a finger to his throbbing temple. The more he remembered from his past as the Lich King, the more terrified he became that the darkness of that time had the power to consume him, erasing the memories of his youth. Already, the faces of his mother and sister floated like distant spectres; Arthas could scarcely recall their individual features. The prospect of forgetting his family, especially when he had already lost so much, gripped Arthas with a sense of fear so strong that it nearly took his breath away.

Suddenly feeling irritated and unsettled, Arthas crept cautiously to the fountain just a few paces away, careful not to make any excess noise for fear of being caught by the Stormwind guards. Jaina's invisibility spell was strong, but it would not conceal his voice, nor the sound of his feet padding softly on the cobblestone. He would need to be extra careful, Jaina had warned him, not to draw attention to himself as long as he remained within the city gates.

As he perched on the fountain's stone ledge, as Jaina had done so many years ago, Arthas was surprised to see his own reflection in the water, and he smiled faintly at the man looking back at him. It suddenly occurred to Arthas that it had been a very long time since had last seen his face. He still had the thick, blond hair of the Menethil family, of course, but his locks were considerably paler than he remembered. He looked older now, and with age, the physical resemblance to his father was more pronounced.

His eyes, however, looked just the same. Arthas suddenly had a faint recollection of his mother, whose green eyes were so close in color to his own, tucking him into bed as a child. Her hand cool on his forehead, Lianne Menethil had spoken softly to Arthas in hushed tones, as though the very sound of her voice was enough to lull him to sleep.

In the clear pane of water before him, Arthas saw himself blink vigorously as he tried to hold back a sudden wave of tears. If this was all he was afforded—just these small, fleeting glimpses into a time when things were so much simpler— he vowed to make them enough to last him the rest of his life, no matter how fiercely the darkness of his past threatened to overtake him.

After a few more moments of reflection, Arthas shifted, preparing to stand and thinking it was time to make his way back to the Jaina in the keep. But as he moved, a sudden ripple in the water caught his eye. Arthas noticed with a small gasp that his reflection, once so clear and bright in the pane of water, was beginning to change shape right before him. First his eyes, then his whole face slowly faded into oblivion, until there was only a cloud of mist in the water where his reflection had been.

Feeling unsettled, Arthas plunged his fist into the water where his face had been, and his hand was met with the cool, stone bottom of the fountain, which was covered in various coins. It was only after he pulled out his hand and dried it roughly on his pant leg that he began to sense another face taking shape in the water beneath him. Squinting carefully at the water beneath him, Arthas suddenly saw harsh, blue eyes and a broad tan face.

It was no longer a human looking back at him, but an orc—the terrifying orc who had haunted his dreams since the day Jaina had discovered him in Icecrown, so far from home. The orc's face was stretched into a terrifying sneer, his eyes so cold and blue that Arthas felt as though he was being pulled inwards, towards the dark depths of a place he scarcely remembered.

With the warm comfort of his mother's eyes suddenly vanished, Arthas was seized by a sense of sheer panic and a single, bloodcurdling scream burst unintended from his dry lips. As soon as the guttural sound had escaped his body, he felt an even more pressing sense of fear grip his body. His eyes wide and fearful, Arthas whirled around, watching remorsefully as a Stormwind guard was alerted to the sound of his voice. Swallowing audibly, he realized faintly that his forehead was suddenly covered with thick droplets of sweat.

_His cover was blown. _


	20. Chapter 20

This update is far overdue. Enjoy!

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><p>Jaina slipped deftly into the small room and closed the door soundly behind her. It was a quiet space, set into a tidy alcove just down the hall from Varian's chamber. In the far corner stood a porcelain basin, decorated with small pink flowers and vines, painted expertly onto the glassy surface.<p>

Absent-mindedly, Jaina poured the bucket of water she had been handed by one of the palace servants in the basin, barely noticing when it had begun to overflow and splash cold droplets onto her cloth shoes. She leaned forward, cupping her hands together and bringing a generous quantity of water to her face.

Varian had broken the news as gently as he could, but it had still wrought daggers through her heart. _They knew that Arthas was alive. _She could scarcely believe the words when Varian had spoken them, but now the truth seemed so obvious.

She had been so stupid. _Of course _there had been questions after no body was discovered in the Icecrown Citadel. Jaina had known, during those few brief days when she had been on the run with Arthas, that they would eventually have to return to the real world, either by their own choice, or by force. But she had never imagined that the day would come so soon. With a force three-hundred men strong dispatched from Stormwind earlier that morning, there was no doubt that Arthas would be found and returned to the Keep immediately.

Jaina caught a brief glimpse of herself in the tarnished mirror hanging crookedly above the basin. Swiftly, she brushed a strand of golden hair behind her ear and stared hard at her reflection, willing herself to remain calm. Her eyes were visibly sunken, and her skin looked pale and waxen. Jaina gave each of her cheeks a soft pinch, watching intently as the natural pink flush slowly returned to her face. Still, she frowned as she straightened out her crumpled skirt and fixed the cuffs on her robe. She had needed a few minutes to freshen up, and was grateful for the quiet privacy of the tidy room. But truthfully, there was little anyone could do to fix the situation they were in now.

Scarcely an hour before, Varian himself had gone down to the kitchen to fetch them some lunch, and Jaina had gratefully accepted the plate of smoked meat and cheese which he had offered her. But she had remained hidden from view when a servant knocked unexpectedly on his chamber door. Varian had dismissed him coldly, while Jaina watched silently from the shadows, feeling a familiar wave of guilt wash over her. The servant had slipped into the hallway sheepishly, apologizing repeatedly for the intrusion.

She had wanted Varian to make amends for his outburst, but he had refused her sternly. "Your safety," he replied softly, "is more important than the emotions of my servants."

With a concerned expression, he had offered Jaina seconds on lunch. Jaina had eyed the plate of food wearily, but she could not deny she was hungry. So hungry, in fact, that her stomach was still growling loudly, even though she found it difficult to hold down any food.

She had perched stiffly at the table as Varian paced the room impatiently, exclaiming every so often between bites of bread.

"We'll need to make sure Arthas isn't found, of course. But it won't be very easy." He stopped pacing for a moment and took a drink of water, before studying Jaina thoughtfully.

"It's a shame you can't talk to the Kirin Tor and lead them off Arthas's trail. It would buy him some time, although it's not clear how much."

Jaina swallowed nervously. She noticed idly that she had begun pulling apart her food into tiny pieces, a nervous habit she had developed in childhood.

"You know that's not possible Varian." Her eyes flitted to the wooden coat rack in Varian's vast chamber, where she had hung her cloak upon her arrival. On the cloak's hood, the stylized emblem of the Kirin Tor stared back at her mercilessly, as though the eye could see into her very thoughts.

Jaina grimaced, and quickly brought her attention back to Varian, who had been waiting for her to continue.

"With your political influence, you can keep a watchful eye on the search mission for now." She pulled her lips into a tight smile, which she hoped looked reassuring.

"As long as we put our heads together, we can think of some way to fix this."

Varian nodded, visibly pleased by Jaina's determination. In turn, she had sought to convince herself to be optimistic.

Being back within the walls of Stormwind, however, had not brought the sense of security she had hoped for. Even Varian's familiar face could not instill calm, and with her desperation reaching new heights, Jaina was reminded of another time in the past when her outlook had been just as bleak.

Then, as now, she had been stuck in an impossible position, caught between her duty to do right by the people she loved, and her responsibility to uphold justice for her people.

In truth, Stratholme was something she scarcely allowed herself to ruminate on, unless she was alone and feeling particularly self-destructive.

She had left the city in a daze, feeling so weak and out of sorts that she had barely mustered the energy to keep herself upright on her horse. Uther's strong hand had helped her into the saddle, and as the steed began to canter, and then gallop along the rough path out of the city, it occurred to Jaina that her fingers were still tingling from Uther's touch. Where his hand had grasped hers, Jaina felt a raw stinging pain, as though his heavy steel glove had burned a mark into her palm.

Her sudden departure with Uther had been the ultimate betrayal, and here was the physical manifestation of her shame.

_I'm sorry, Arthas. I can't watch you do this. _

Jaina shook her head, wiling herself desperately to hold back the tears which threatened to fall and to maintain a semblance of control. Now was not the time for mourning, she had resolved. Now was the time for action. She needed to get back to Capital City to inform the King what had happened. She needed to rally the Lordaeron army and stop Arthas before it was too late.

Later that evening, when she had permitted herself to rest for a few hours before continuing the journey home, Jaina had stared morosely into the campfire, imagining the cries of Lordaeron's innocent dead. She had requested privacy for the night, although a group of guards was stationed on the crest overlooking her campsite. Jaina had been seized with the desperate urge to be alone, craving the peace and quiet of the dark forest to soothe her nerves.

But a sudden rustle in the trees had Jaina immediately sitting upright, her fingers clenched around the silver staff tossed next to her sleeping mattress. A moment later, she caught the outline of a figure, illuminated eerily in the pale moonlight and clutching a paladin's hammer.

It was Arthas, striding purposefully towards the camp.

_How had he found her? _Jaina swallowed nervously, noting the dark circles under his eyes as he approached.

"Jaina." His voice was gravelly, not at all like the strong, familiar Arthas she had once known.

Upon reaching her, he bent down on one knee, his armour creaking as he moved. With a feeling of horror, Jaina noted in the moonlight that the silver pate metal was stained with dirt and specks of blood. Consciously, she shifted her weight so that she was now leaning away from Arthas, her staff still tightly gripped in her left hand.

Arthas' eyes hardened as he perceived her shift away from him.

"Why are you here, Arthas?" Jaina's eyes met his, and her voice became stronger as she spoke. "You slaughtered those innocent victims like it was nothing. You betrayed Uther and dismissed the Silver Hand. You refused to listen to those closest to you, when all we were trying to do was help."

Arthas's eyes narrowed, and he waved his gloved hand dismissively.

"_Help _me, Jaina? You could have helped me by adding your power to mine. By facing those undead monsters, instead of simply running away. I did what I had to do to save my people."

Jaina shook her head. "How will murder help your kingdom, Arthas?"

Arthas slammed his fist into the ground beside him, causing Jaina to jump in surprise.

"It _wasn't _murder. Those citizens were affected by the plague, and if I didn't stop them, the disease would have spread."

Arthas glared at Jaina angrily, before pointing accusingly in her direction. "After all this time, Jaina. Why couldn't you trust me?"

Jaina's words were like ice, her resolve ironclad.

"No, Arthas. You were the one who couldn't trust _me._"

Her words caught Arthas off-guard, and for a moment, his hand faltered at his side.

"I could have gone to Antonidas," Jaina continued. "We could have figured out another way. But you refused to listen to what I had to say. You didn't want my input. You refused to hear anyone's opinion but your own. And now your kingdom has suffered gravely."

Jaina noted absent-mindedly that Arthas' pupils were too dilated, his demeanour strangely detached. With a small gasp, she realized she was physically shaking, so frightened was she of his next words. Of what they would mean for Arthas. And for her.

"I'm going to Northrend to hunt down Mal'Ganis. He's there, Jaina, waiting for me. I need to finish what I started in order to make things right."

Jaina's heart sunk at his words. In her desperation, Jaina had hoped that Arthas would abandon his plans after witnessing the devastation at Stratholme and the immense emotional toll it had caused to his people.

At what it had done to _her_, she thought bitterly. Couldn't he see how upset she was over his decision? At his complete refusal to acknowledge her love and support? Suddenly, her sadness was replaced with rage, and Jaina felt herself nearly boil over with newfound anger.

"I want you to come with me," he barked suddenly. Arthas's eyes were trained on Jaina like a hawk, searching for any sign of acquiescence. He needed a sign—_anything _that would prove he wouldn't need to go on alone. The weight of his crown rested so heavily on his shoulders that Arthas felt he could scarcely breathe, let alone lead his people against an army of undead.

But the weight of love—its strength was something different entirely. Jaina could feel her heart breaking as she shifted even further away from Arthas, but she knew her decision had already been made. Her anger and sheer disbelief had burned an ugly hole in her soul, making her feel as dead inside as one of Arthas's victims.

She stood, holding her staff in front of her as a protective barrier, and brushed her hair back from her face.

"I never want to see you again." She enunciated slowly and with immense purpose, imagining that every word was a dagger piercing Arthas's armour.

Arthas stood to his full height and for a moment he wavered slightly, as though unsure what to do next. His eyes searched Jaina's wildly as he waited for her to speak again—to perhaps change her mind and agree to come with him.

But after a moment of deafening silence, it was clear that there was nothing more to say. Jaina hugged her arms tightly around her body as Arthas's mouth twisted into an angry sneer.

"Goodbye, Jaina," he spat forcefully. And then he was gone.

Bracing herself against the chamber wall, Jaina took a deep breath and willed her pulse to stop racing so wildly. She had been so angry then, and scarcely unable to contain her rage. Arthas had committed a grave injustice which had gone against everything she herself had believed in, turning him into someone she could not even recognize.

But she also deeply regretted her _own_ actions. She had fled Stratholme without a second thought, so angry was she with Arthas's attack on the city. She had failed to listen to his plans for Northrend. Perhaps if she had understood the extent of the pressure he was under, maybe she coud have acted differently. What she had perceived as Arthas's rash desire for revenge, she now understood to be his deep-seated insecurity over his role as heir to the throne.

Yes, he had failed her. But she had also failed him. And she had been haunted by the disaster at Stratholme for many long years.

Varian was the only one who understood the guilt she carried, and he had already spent many long hours talking her through her pain. It was an additional cause of guilt for Jaina- to ask Varian, whose responsibilities were already so great, to take on her own troubles along with his own. But their friendship had been one of her only refuges.

Jaina had begun to turn towards the chamber door when a sudden noise from outside caught her immediate attention. From outside the small palace window, Jaina spotted a group of figures ascending the front steps. Immediately, she recognized Varian's broad shoulders and cape, even from a considerable distance. He was flanked on either side by a burly member of the palace guard, carrying an immense banner of Stormwind's coat of arms.

There was something peculiar in the way Varian was walking, as though he was trying to move as slowly and in as calculated a manner as possible. Jaina's fingers tightened on the windowsill as he suddenly halted before a small group of men.

At once, the group broke loose and Jaina blinked twice, observing the coarse, blond hair of a male captor who had been pinned to the ground.

It was Arthas—there was no doubt about it. _How had they discovered him? Had her protective spell really faded so quickly?_

Acting on pure instinct, Jaina sprung to her feet and fled through the chamber door, nearly tripping on her robe as she emerged into the hallway in front of Varian's chamber.

She stopped for a moment to allow herself to catch her breath. Then, almost imperceptibly, Jaina's lips began to whisper a silent incantation, blanketing her body in a powerful, if temporary, invisibility spell.

Immediately after the warmth of the arcane had enveloped her, Jaina sprinted down the hallway and into the main throne chamber, barely dodging a palace servant who was headed for Varian's chamber with a silver teapot in hand. Deftly, she slid into the palace's small antechamber before creaking open the main door and creeping down the immense stone steps.

Varian was speaking in a low, serious voice to a dark-haired captain whom Jaina didn't recognize. She saw his back stiffen as she tentatively approached the crowd of men and women which had formed in the courtyard, though he offered no other sign that he had sensed her presence.

"Your Majesty," the captain intoned. "You must see to it that justice is served. Arthas Menethil is a traitor and a murderer. He must be made to suffer the most severe punishment."

Throughout the very public exchange, Arthas had kept his gaze cast downward. For that, at least, Jaina was thankful. She couldn't bear to see his eyes, not when she was unable to do anything to help him.

Varian nodded at the captain before turning his attention to the prisoner.

"He will go to the stockades." Varian spoke sternly. "But I wish to have a word alone with him first."

Jaina shifted uncomfortably from her spot in the shadows, feeling a familiar sense of trepidation creep into her chest.

The guards seemed just as startled by Varian's request, but wasted no time obeying his command. Hauling Arthas roughly to his feet, the captain pushed the prisoner forward, leading him up the great stone steps towards the front of the palace.

Varian turned to follow the procession, but not before glancing surreptitiously in Jaina's direction, his mouth pulled into a thin, tight line. Jaina nodded in return, pushing her blond hair nervously behind her ears.

_I hope you know what you're doing_, she begged Varian silently. Within a few moments, she begun to follow, her feet padding reluctantly on the ground as she fought to regain her composure.

_One mistake_, Jaina thought somberly. _One mistake and they were all in big trouble._


	21. Chapter 21

**Hello readers! I realize I haven't posted since November, but I was seized tonight with a bit of inspiration. I really appreciate anyone who is still following this story. Thanks for hanging in there. As always, reviews are appreciated :)  
><strong>

Varian swallowed and grasped the hilt of his sword tightly. It had been his father's weapon, and in the first frantic hours after Llane Wrynn's untimely death, the Stormwind council had believed it lost on the battlefield.

The following morning, as the grey dawn seeped in between the castle's heavy drawn curtains, a ten-year old Varian had been roused to the grand chamber. There in the shadow of his father's throne, the gleaming blade was placed in his trembling hands. The boy had stared at it numbly, silently counting the tiny flecks of red which stained the sword's surface. It was his father's blood, Varian had realized, although it didn't matter much now. Llane Wrynn was dead, and Stormwind required a new leader. Kings were born into legacies, and they left legacies behind. And it fell to Llane's son to take up the blade.

In the years which followed that unforgettable morning, Varian had always wielded his weapon courageously, and gained a fine reputation in combat. But after more than a few turns on the battlefield, he'd learned that the greatest wounds weren't caused by the sword. The scars which Varian bore were from that terrifying moment in the throne room when he was proclaimed king. When he'd scanned the crowd for his mother and been told she was locked in her bedroom, sick with grief.

Varian knew the pain and suffering that true loss could bring. As he marched Arthas down the long stone hallway towards the war room, he wondered what impact these last few weeks would have on his health. After he silently recalled the emotional torture of Arthas's return, Varian considered for one desperate moment giving up altogether. He could simply hand Arthas over to his inner council, and let duty take its course.

But to his genuine surprise, his advisors had insisted that the King take matters into his own hands and meet with Arthas alone. The palace guards had even nudged Varian encouragingly, no doubt assuming he would exercise a special brand of justice behind closed doors.

As the two men trudged towards the war room, Arthas kept his head low. But with the door closed behind him, he grabbed the other man's arms. "Where is Jaina?" he rasped.

Varian pulled his arms free and motioned towards the table in the centre of the room.

"She's safe," he assured Arthas gruffly. With the adrenaline from the capture waning, Varian suddenly felt drained and irritable. He had been up half the night, and his feet ached from the tight pinch of his boots. Slumping into the tall wooden chair at the head of the table, he pressed a hand over his eyes, as though he was shielding them from a bright light.

Through the cracks between his fingers, he noted that Arthas had struck a similar pose, his exhaustion evident in the heavy slump of his shoulders. "She was only supposed to be gone for a few moments," Arthas spoke unevenly, although there was no malice in his voice.

Another moment of tense silence passed. "I know what I need to do," Arthas whispered. "And I can't implicate you any further. But Jaina…" He paused and ran a hand through his hair. "Damnit, Varian, she's just so stubborn. She won't accept the fact that I'm guilty and deserve to be tried for my crimes."

Varian nodded. This much he understood. He had no reason to doubt Jaina's faith in Arthas. Varian knew what Arthas meant to her, although he had been reluctant to accept it. Failing to exonerate Arthas would be letting Jaina down.

"I promised her I would help," Varian admitted, "but I'm not sure how."

Their shoulders slumped, both men considered the impossibility of the situation. In the silence that followed, Varian's eyes traveled slowly to the line of banners hanging along the chamber wall. They were running out of time. Soon, there would be a knock at the door, and Arthas would be escorted to the Stockade, the city's cold and unforgiving prison. Varian would be forced to return to Jaina, who was no doubt on her way, and explain how he had failed to protect Arthas, although he had promised her he would.

His eyes traced the shape of Stormwind's banner before landing on the Lordaeron colors stretched across the far wall. Not for the first time, Varian silently acknowledged that the careful calligraphy of the Lordaeron emblem was as familiar to him as Stormwind's own. After all, Loredaeron was the place where he had sought refuge during the First War. It was the place where he and Arthas had first become sworn brothers, and later rivals for Jaina's affection. It was a place he often thought fondly about, especially in those moments when the dark fissures of his past threatened to swallow him whole.

Lo'Gosh. He resented how naturally the word formed on his tongue. It felt like something more than a word, but not quite his name. No, he was still Varian Wrynn, despite the hell he'd endured years ago, and the time spent abroad as he pieced himself back together.

He didn't remember much about the day he arrived in Darnassus all those years ago. Starved and half-beaten to death, he had taken full advantage of Tyrande Whisperwind's hospitality. But food and a warm bed failed to provide the peace he was seeking.

On the day he came to Theramore, Varian flew into a desperate rage. Locked in a tower chamber with a gale howling at the windows, he had broken almost everything in his room. Aegwynn visited once, but the old woman's eyes frightened him, so he sent her away. On the night that the storm finally ceased, Jaina Proudmoore unlocked the chamber door. It was the first time Varian had seen her since he arrived, and immediately he felt his heart stir.

Even now, the events of those months played out like a dream. Bits of his former life flashed tauntingly in his sleep. Like the colors of a sunset, they were bright and vivid one moment, then dull and muted the next. In daylight, he was raw and distracted. While Jaina recounted all she knew about Varian Wrynn, he studied the dust motes floating weightlessly above her head. After hours of conversation, it was all he could do not to scream. But he hadn't wanted to scare Jaina, not this mysterious, beautiful woman who seemed so intent on helping him come back to life. Somehow he knew, even then, that she would be the one to pick up all the pieces.

Many months later, he asked Jaina when she knew he was better. She had laughed teasingly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

"The evening I offered you tea and you demanded ale instead." But when her laughter had subsided, her smile turned soft. "The first time I mentioned Anduin," she whispered, "I saw the clouds begin to clear."

Despite his recovery, Varian had accepted it would be a life-long struggle. Even now, it was still difficult to parse out certain memories from his time as Lo'Gosh.

Weeks after his return to Stormwind, he had spent one afternoon wandering the palace grounds. It was part of his recuperation: he liked to study the things he had done in the past, and try to figure out his motivation for doing them. Simple things bothered him most, like why he chose to plant red tulips instead of white, or preferred jam over butter.

After a long hour spent studying the cabinetry in the pantry, Varian found himself in the blacksmith adjacent to the palace kitchen. He remembered instinctively that he had come here as a child. On the wall, there was a battered shield, split clear down the middle. Even after being soldered together, a line of ugly reside ran down its centre. The shield was still two halves, fused roughly together. In the months that followed, this was how Varian eventually came to think of himself.

Now as he gazed at the banners of their fathers, Varian wondered what the last few years were like for Arthas. During his time as the Lich King, had Arthas also felt trapped inside his own body? Had he known the same paralyzing loneliness of living worlds from home, wondering if his loved ones had moved on without him?

There was no sense denying it—Varian had made his decision. He was committed to helping Arthas in his quest for redemption. Not just for Jaina, but also for himself. For the young boy who had spent years wondering whether he would ever live up to the legacy of his father. For the king who knew first-hand what it was like to be shattered and rebuilt from the ground up, piece by agonizing piece.

During his years spent as Lo'Gosh, Varian had been through hell. And for what? The least he could do was help someone else stumble out of the darkness in the way he'd only just managed to do.

Varian knew they needed to act quickly. The inner council would meet that afternoon to discuss Arthas's fate, and it was customary for the King to make a speech. It would have to be a public proclamation, spoken in front of his people. Varian could picture them now, huddled in small groups outside the palace gates, their torches burning and fists raised high as they cried for vengeance.

Varian envisioned himself again as a young boy, clutching his father's blade as though his life depended on it. On that distant morning so long ago, his subjects had huddled around him, their faces grey and ashen. Guarding him, he supposed, since they failed to guard his father. Back then, Varian had appreciated their steady strength. If the people of Stormwind had been frightened by the prospect of such a young King, they showed no outward signs.

Desperately, Varian craved that steadiness now. With his father's sword in hand, he had always excelled in armed combat. But in the battle of wits and words, he lacked a silver tongue.

He would need to convince his people that justice had been served. That the torture of Arthas's captivity was enough to drive any man mad. That the real threat to the kingdom lay in Northrend, where Ner'zhul's dark magic still undoubtedly stirred.

More importantly, Varian would need allies. People who understood what it was like to be seized by a terrible darkness, before being hurtled back into the realm of the living. Varian leaned forward in his chair as a string of possibilities surged through his mind. Finally, he placed his palms flat on the wooden table before looking Arthas squarely in the eye.

"I have a plan."


	22. Chapter 22

**Hello readers! I'm still writing this story...ever so slowly. ;) I actually have another chapter written after this one and almost edited, so it should be posted soon. Thanks to anyone who is still reading- it means a lot to me :)**

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><p>The wooden floorboards creaked softly as Jaina paced the hallway. Despite her resolve not to interfere with Varian's plans, her patience was rapidly growing thin. The afternoon sun, which had only just begun its ascent when she arrived in Stormwind, was now casting hazy golden rays across the corridor walls.<p>

_If we wait much longer to take action_, she thought solemnly, _it will soon be nightfall_. A palace guard had arrived some ten minutes before with a hastily scrawled message from Varian, but the thought of the letter's contents made Jaina's heart constrict.

True to his word, Varian had arranged an emergency meeting with the Stormwind high council that afternoon. _We need to convince them that Arthas can be rehabilitated, _he wrote to Jaina in bold letters. _I'm inviting someone to the city who may be able to help. _

The King hadn't identified the mystery guest by name, but Jaina could guess it would be someone with far-reaching political connections. Whoever it was, she would know very soon, and for that she was relieved. Not being in control of the situation, especially one which involved the people she loved, bred a certain kind of restlessness in the headstrong mage.

_Soon everyone will know I was involved in Arthas' capture, _she thought to herself. That fact was both reassuring and terrifying, but at least once everything was out in the open, Jaina could finally work on moving forward.

She had spent the last hour in the back wing of the palace, pacing through the well-appointed living quarters and awaiting Varian's message. It was the perfect place to remain inconspicuous, with no one around except a few household servants. A more pleasant alternative to the rest of the palace, the living quarters were cozily furnished with wooden floors and woven tapestries. Far from looking opulent and expensive, the rooms had a humble appeal that was unexpected.

Normally, Jaina relished spending time in the palace's hidden quarters, where Varian's softer side was on full display. But the day's events had left her feeling dazed and distracted. She stared numbly at the corridor walls, her mind fixated on what was to come.

"Auntie Jaina? Is that you?"

Jaina turned to find a blond boy staring inquisitively at her.

"Anduin!" She exclaimed. Without hesitation, her adoptive nephew lunged forward and threw his arms around her neck. Instinctively, and despite all Jaina had endured the past few hours, she returned the embrace.

"I'm so glad you're here. I was worried about you," Anduin mumbled into her hair.

Jaina chuckled and extricated herself gently from the prince's grasp. Had it only been a few months since she had seen him last? Her nephew had grown an inch at least, or maybe two. Although he was just thirteen, he was now almost her height.

"You don't need to worry," she told him soothingly. Jaina linked her arm through Anduin's and led them towards a small alcove at the end of the hall.

"Let's sit down and we can talk."

Anduin took a seat and brought a slender hand to his eyes. Jaina pretended not to notice; she could count on one hand the number of times she'd seen him cry.

_I've been so preoccupied with Arthas that I forgot all about Anduin. _Since the young prince was born, Jaina had always been the young prince's surrogate "auntie." She'd attended birthday parties, helped him with his schoolwork, and watched him cast his first healing spell. While Anduin and his father were close, his mother's death had left a natural void that he could never fill. Jaina trusted that between her and Varian, they could give Anduin all of the direction and guidance he would ever need.

_Except that's exactly what I haven't been doing. _Instead, she'd spent the past few weeks evading Alliance sentries, disobeying Kirin Tor orders, and lying to her friends about her whereabouts. As much as she hated to admit it, she'd been anything _but _a role model for Anduin ever since she'd rescued Arthas from Icecrown.

"Father told me you had gone to Northrend," Anduin said quietly. "Is that true, Aunt Jaina? I wanted to go too, but he said I had to stay in Stormwind."

Jaina smiled affectionately and patted the boy's hand. "I did go to Northrend, Anduin. And I'm glad your father asked you to stay behind. It's much too dangerous for a boy your age."

Anduin winced. _A boy his age. _Immediately, Jaina regretted making the comment. Now that he was on the brink of manhood, it was important to start treating him like a capable adult. Despite his tousled hair and lopsided grin, Anduin was still the crown prince of Stormwind, and thus the future king.

Jaina decided to switch tactics.

"Well I, for one, am glad you stayed behind." She gave her young nephew a conspiratorial wink. "After all, _someone _needs to keep an eye on your father when I'm not around."

When Anduin grinned, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief. "Father has been more on edge lately," the young boy admitted. "He's always running around, barking orders at everyone."

This wasn't surprising, Jaina considered, given the delicate predicament they were in. But Anduin didn't know anything about his father's involvement with Arthas, and Jaina planned on keeping it that way.

"There's a lot going on with the Alliance," Jaina said vaguely. "Your father has the difficult task of overseeing the entire human kingdom. Sometimes things can get out of hand."

While she had hoped to placate Anduin, the boy shook his head. "But it's not just that, is it Aunt Jaina?"

He leaned toward her and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I overheard some of the staff talking in the kitchen. There's something going on they don't want me to know."

Jaina froze, hoping her face wouldn't betray her emotions. "What exactly did you hear?"

Anduin's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not too sure," he continued slowly. "But I think it might have to do with the Lich King. Did something happen in Icecrown?"

Although it was doubtful that Anduin knew the whole story, Jaina couldn't frowning. The haunting memories of her time spent in Northrend were still fresh in her mind. More than anything, she wanted to protect her nephew from that kind of pain.

And yet, Anduin had always been more mature than most boys his age. His compassion for animals, the sick, and the poor— the young boy had a natural affinity for the Light. Perhaps he would understand that not everything in the world was so black and white. As she'd learned in Theramore, even the lines between the Horde and the Alliance were sometimes blurred, especially in times of crisis.

"Anduin," she began. "You were right to trust your instincts. Something has happened with the Lich King. He was captured and brought back to Stormwind."

The boy's eyes grew wide as saucers and Jaina immediately felt a pang of sympathy. The idea that a powerful and feared prisoner had arrived at his home had to be unnerving for the young prince.

Jaina took his hand before she continued. "But there's something you must understand, Anduin, about the Lich King's power. It's not quite as….simple as we once believed."

Anduin furrowed his brow once again. "I though the Lich King was some sort of demon."

Jaina took a deep breath, willing her young nephew to understand. "What you heard is true," she replied carefully. "But there is more to this story than meets the eye. Have you heard of the death knights, Anduin?"

The boy fidgeted nervously. "I saw them once, outside the gates of the city. They were so big and tall I don't know how they could ride horses."

"Father doesn't seem to trust them," he added, "Even though he told me they were members of the Alliance. I was just so scared that they would notice me and slice me into two with their long swords!"

Jaina frowned. "What you may not know, Anduin, is that death knights were once men. They had their lives stolen from them by an evil magic. By the Light, I'm hoping we can still find a way to save them."

"Part of our job as members of the Alliance," she continued, "is to help mend people who have been put under a curse. It's important you realize that being a true leader isn't all about killing, and stealing, and conquering. We must sometimes be kind to each other—to show mercy. Even when it seems like someone doesn't deserve it."

Anduin was silent for a moment as he digested Jaina's speech.

"I suppose you're right," he said uncertainly. "But even if you can cure the death knights and turn them back into men, it doesn't excuse them from all the crimes they committed. And the Lich King…."

Anduin's lip began to tremble. "Aunt Jaina, Father said he killed _hundreds_ of people. Doesn't that mean that he needs to be punished?"

Jaina swallowed hard. _What had she expected? For Anduin to just blindly agree that Arthas was blameless? _This was something that Jaina herself wasn't even sure of.

"I think you have a very fine of sense of justice," she told her nephew. "It will serve you well when you become king."

Anduin smiled shyly. "I really hope so," he replied.

Out in the nearby courtyard, the palace clock signaled the passing of another hour. Jaina stood and patted the young prince on the head. "I'm afraid I have some official business to attend to," she said apologetically. "But I will see you again soon. I promise."

Anduin looked up expectantly. "Can you come by the garden later so I can show you my spells?"

With a sigh, Jaina realized there was nothing she would rather do than relax outdoors, perhaps with a cup of Goldthorn tea, and watch her nephew practice.

"I'll try my very best," she promised Anduin.

As she watched her young nephew disappear down the hallway, Jaina was left with a sinking feeling in her heart. _I'm the one who helped the Lich King escape Icecrown._ She wouldn't easily forget Anduin's frightened expression when he heard Arthas was in Stormwind. Nor could she imagine what Anduin would think of her when he learned that _she _was the one who brought him here.

Still, she had come too far along this journey to turn back now. Steeling herself, Jaina turned and walked in the opposite direction, down a stone staircase to the main floor of the palace. As she passed by one of the building's many kitchens, the smell of cooking meat wafted deliciously in the air.

_The rest of Stormwind is probably just sitting down for dinner, _Jaina thought dismally. Although she and Varian had shared lunch earlier in the day, it would probably be hours before she could eat again.

_No rest for the weary, _she reminded herself. _I need to make sure I can prove that Arthas is innocent. _Jaina picked up her pace, passing by a second kitchen and informal sitting room before reaching the stone archway which separated the living quarters from the rest of the palace.

Two left turns later and she was standing in front of the room that was used to convene the Stormwind high council. Even without pressing her ear to the wooden door, she could hear voices within, signalling that Varian's emergency meeting was already in progress.

_It's time_, she thought resolutely as she gripped iron doorknob.

_Whatever happens to Arthas,_ _his fate is now inextricably tied with my own._


End file.
